


My Caged Performer

by RumCove



Series: My Captive Audience [2]
Category: Scrubs (TV)
Genre: Dark Comedy, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 131,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21523654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumCove/pseuds/RumCove
Summary: Sequel to "My Captive Audience", although reading the precursor isn't strictly necessary.After JD is abducted by a patient and goes through a traumatic experience, he's having some difficulties coping with the aftermath. Sure, he's absolutely fine, thanks, doesn't need to talk about it. Y'know, apart from when he really does. How annoying that the only person he really can relax around is an emotionally crippled narcissist who's acting even weirder than usual.Meanwhile, Doctor Cox is having to face up to the feelings that nearly losing his Newbie has forced him to confront. Because obviously, he still finds him an annoying, whiny bastard and doesn't at all want to protect him from all this shit and he's not an angry, obsessed, jealous weirdo who's keeping tabs on his frustrating co-worker. Obviously.Slow-burn, eventual JD/Cox, eventual smut, eventual (cavity-inducing) fluff. Slightly AU JD and Cox, but still recognizable as themselves, just slightly exaggerated in some ways.
Relationships: Perry Cox/John "JD" Dorian
Series: My Captive Audience [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551295
Comments: 196
Kudos: 126





	1. 01. My New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So, you will initially note that this now has the JD/Cox relationship tag. This will happen eventually, when they both stop kidding themselves about things. If you can't really envision it, then sorry - hopefully you will be convinced if you read on!
> 
> This fic will have flashbacks of sexual and physical abuse, with some distressing imagery. There will be nothing additional to the events that have already occurred in "My Captive Audience". If you are likely to be affected by the content then please do be careful and look after yourself.
> 
> If you are a fan of "My Captive Audience" then you may notice a change in writing style. Hopefully this is an improvement and not too jolting. To note, this work was written completely differently to MCA, with each chapter planned out well in advance and multiple redrafts. 
> 
> To new readers; you should probably read "My Captive Audience" first. The fic may make sense without, but if you enjoy angst, fluff and (mainly platonic) JD-Cox interactions then please give it a go (although does feature some distressing content): https://archiveofourown.org/works/19475635/chapters/46359031 
> 
> Update schedule: every Friday.
> 
> In other news, after leaving work late, driving 101 km and getting stuck in traffic I arrived home to find no power in my apartment and the emergency electrician just left - so the chapter's a bit later than I planned to post it, but am relieved it's at least up! I hope that readers enjoy this chapter :) Incidentally, a lot of the therapy I describe in this (and later chapters) is from experience, not Googling; EMDR is bizarre.

_Blood soaked, crazy eyes rolling slightly, he is staring at me. I want to grab one of the glass shards from the broken window and forever dispatch him, stop him being a threat any more. But I keep myself from it, however much my fingers itch to seize the glass and ram in into his skull. I grind my teeth._

_“What? What could you possibly want?”_

_He lifts his hand and I see he’s holding a knife. I tense slightly, anticipating an attack, but he spins it over, holding it by the blade and proffering the handle to me._

_“He brought this. They shouldn’t find it,” he tells me._

_Tentatively I reach over and take it, unable to stop myself from glancing back at the crumpled heap in the garden that is JD._

_“Look after him.”_

_My eyes snap back to him and I narrow them. He smiles, jarring and unnerving._

_“I see how you look at him.”_

_“What?”_

_“I see it. I know what you want. You really should stop denying yourself, he’s a great fuck.”_

_Briefly – so briefly, but oh so tempting – I want nothing more than to slam the knife into his eye. My stomach rolls and I can’t stop the look of horror on my face. Then I regain control of myself and shut my face down._

_“You sick bastard.”_

_He smiles._

I shake myself. Something that happened nearly one year ago really shouldn’t have this sort of impact on me anymore. Gourley’s gone, he’s locked up getting treatment for his myriad of mental health problems. JD’s pretty much recovered physically, I wouldn’t want to make any sweeping statements about how he is emotionally. And I’m… still a neurotic, alcoholic robodoc. I don’t change.

Well, one change. I look gloomily around my very empty apartment; Jordan’s repeated threats to leave having come to fruition. I realize I should feel more upset by this, but I’m mainly annoyed at the disruption and that it’s harder to see Jack now. We’ve broken up before, of course, but this feels more final. I’m slightly disappointed that I don’t feel more of a loss, but I suppose our relationship wasn’t exactly a “grand passion”, just two mildly unpleasant people being moderately unpleasant to one another.

I sigh and check my cell. Nothing. Zip. Nada. I glance over to my scotch cabinet, but resist the urge. I can just about sanction my excessive drinking due to stress or overwork, but not if I’m _bored_. That’s one hell of a slippery slope. Although I’m not really bored per se, more unsettled.

_“I see how you look at him.”_

“Fuck off,” I snarl and reach for the cut crystal tumbler.

\- - - - -

“How is the new house?”

I smile at Craig and gesture excessively in my response.

“Oh, it’s _great_. I never thought I’d be in a position to buy anywhere, let alone a place like that. It felt a bit weird leaving Carla and Turk at the apartment, but I really need to move on.”

“How would staying with them not being you moving on?”

“Oh… well… they still look at me like I’m fragile sometimes. They worry. It’s kind of them, but… frustrating. This feels like a new beginning. Also, I think Carla was getting sick of me being a third wheel.”

“Have you set up the security settings we discussed before?”

“Yeah, and I added some extras.”

_An image of lions prowling around the outside of a small house, as I stroll amongst them in a top hat and tails, daring anyone to try to break in._

“That’s great. We know that personal security over your own space enables you to relax. Particularly since you were made to feel so powerless in the immediate aftermath of the attack. Have you found setting up your new home very relaxing?”

“So far. I’m worried people keep asking if I’ll have a house warming party though.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know… parties…” I shrug. “People, noise, no space…”

“I see. You could have a dinner party or a small gathering instead if you wanted to mark the occasion and still retain control.”

“Good point. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s good. How have you been feeling otherwise?”

I shrug and glance down.

“If we’re going to start the EMDR, do you mind taking off your shoes?”

Craig looks surprised. My counsellor – or rather, my fifth counsellor, but the first one that I’ve really felt has helped – is pretty unconventional. He wears suit pants and a shirt, but generally wears a variety of sneakers with them. Since I spend the majority of our sessions addressing his shoes it’s something I’ve noticed before. He’s probably in his late forties and going prematurely gray with a reassuringly kind face. He’s also short and slight, something that allows my subconscious to relax ( _not a threat_ it insists). I had one incredibly macho counsellor who I looked at for one second and almost _ran_ out of the room. It would have been like counselling from The Todd.

_“I’ve been having problems with intrusive thoughts about the rape.”_

_“Penis thoughts?”_

_“Well, it did involve penises…”_

_“Penis five!”_

“What’s wrong with my shoes?”

I pull myself back into the moment. Craig sounds surprised and slightly offended.

“Nothing. It’s just that I have a thing about Converse… _he_ wore them, you see.”

“Ah…”

Craig removes his shoes, looks slightly non-plussed at what to do with them and then deposits them behind his desk. He’s wearing red Road Runner socks. He gives me a slightly apologetic shrug and then self-consciously tucks one foot under the other.

“You remember our discussion about this last session? What it means?”

I nod. “Eye Movement Desensitizing and Reprocessing. It’s supposed to help with traumatic memories. I Googled it.”

“That’s good. And you remember the technique we discussed? Your coping mechanism?”

“Outside of these sessions I put the memories in a lock box in my head,” I parrot. “And if I get upset or unsettled I should use the memories that make me settled.”

_It’s essentially “going to my happy place”. Therapy actually involves happy places._

“Yes. EMDR can be difficult for experiences such as your’s. I’m essentially asking you to relive the incident. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but this is a technique that has helped a lot of people so I want us to try it. It should help with the intrusive thoughts and flashbacks.”

“I still don’t get why thinking about it all the time is supposed to help.”

“When something terrible happens to us, it can cause the mind to have issues processing it. The experience remains improperly processed, resulting in a sufferer feeling they are reliving the experience. Normally after we’ve experienced something, the mind processes it and then essentially “files” it. If the memory isn’t properly filed away then it can reoccur as the brain tries to deal with it. EMDR causes the person to think of the memory again whilst exposed to a stimulus, which can help the memory be properly filed.”

“It doesn’t mean I forget though.”

“No, it doesn’t… You have symptoms of PTSD, or possibly even CPTSD. I’m not going to claim you will ever be totally “cured” from such an experience. But this should help with intrusive thoughts and you having flashbacks.”

I nod gloomily.

“I don’t want to do much today, it’s very mentally demanding and I’d like you to just try some mental exercises initially so you can see what it’s like. I’d rather we start properly next session, when I want your appointment to be in the afternoon. You shouldn’t go to work afterwards.”

“I’ll make sure I book it for then.”

“It is tiring,” he warns me, possibly (correctly) thinking that I don’t believe it will be that much of a strain, considering I think about it all of the time anyway. I shrug.

“So, the external stimulus is important to discuss. The idea for this therapy came from a walk along a beach, looking at the rhythmic waves and the act of walking, which were enough to allow processing. There are different ways of doing this in therapy sessions. Considering you will be in a mildly dissociative state – and the nature of what you will be thinking of – I suspect that the more traditional method of tapping a leg or arm might not be appropriate.”

 _“No.”_ I shudder. The thought of it makes me feel nauseous.

“Yes, I thought that would be the case. I’d suggest I move a finger back and forth in front of your face. Like this:”

He demonstrates, slowly oscillating his finger across my field of vision. I stare at it, feeling slightly cross-eyed.

“How’s that?”

_Bizarre._

“Fine.”

“And what about the mental imagery that makes you feel safe?”

I frown. “I’m still having trouble with that.”

“How about your new house? It’s happened after the incident.”

“Probably. I’ll try that.”

“So, close your eyes and focus on it.”

I do so.

“Can you feel anything? Any sound or sensation?”

_I feel ridiculous, does that count?_

My mind remains stubbornly blank. Considering my usually overly active imagination, this shouldn’t be hard. I frown.

“Nothing?” Craig asks. “Give it a minute and then try again.”

I do, furiously trying to conjure the image he’s asked me to. Nothing is coming. I shift and sigh. “No, not really. I can’t visualise it.”

Craig looks at me thoughtfully. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m bullshitting and not really trying.

“JD, we need to get this functional before we start the therapy. It’s not uncommon for patients to get very upset during it and I need to know I can tell you to go somewhere safe in your head. Before our next session I want to you think carefully about a place that you feel safe and secure in and be able to visualise it.”

I nod, feeling like a failure. I can’t even relax properly.

“Don’t worry,” Craig says, correctly intuiting my mood. “It can be hard to begin with. I know you don’t feel safe anywhere-” I give him a suspicious look “-but please think. It could even be somewhere you’ve been on vacation to, it doesn’t need to be somewhere that you see frequently. As long as you can visualise it.”

I nod again. “I’ll speak with your receptionist and set that next session up. So I shouldn’t go to work after?”

“It’s not a great idea.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll do that now. See you next week.”

Craig smiles at me as he walks to me to the door. “Are you growing your hair out again?”

I self-consciously reach up, pulling a strand of it absently. After I was released from medical observation ( _the asylum_ ) I had my hair cropped short, much to the horror of everyone. My various attempts to change my appearance, as if it would somehow change _me_ , have been a source of comment over the last year. The short hair was not successful; my various attempts to appear more masculine were a rather sad reflection on the state my mind was in. Was I too feminine? Was I too vulnerable? Is that why he chose me?

I gave up on my attempts to look more masculine and my hair is longer than it was before, swept back and with less product. If only other changes could be rectified; I still have the tattoo, although I am weirdly fond of it. And the regular exercise (for mental health and over-compensation) means I’m more toned than I have been in the past. I actually look pretty good on the surface, although I remain repulsive underneath my clothes.

“Yes, I thought I’d go for a change,” I notice his expression. “Don’t worry, I’m not going back to bad habits. I just wanted it longer.”

“Yes, how is the tattoo?”

I roll my eyes. “See you next week.”

After arranging the next appointment (next Wednesday, 1600, ready for some “upsetting” therapy, something new and exciting to dread) I go to the parking lot and find my ride. This is another change, although one I am quite happy with. I was sad to lose Sasha, but the sleek, black motorcycle is a new passion. I did initially consider going for something bigger like a Harley, but realized this was more of my desperate over-compensation. I’d have looked ridiculous anyway. But the new Aprilia Tuono motorcycle (initially christened Perry because it looks bad tempered and then rapidly dropped since the idea of “I’m just off to ride Perry” was horrifying) gives me such a sense of freedom.

I pull my helmet and leathers on and kick start the beast, hearing the throaty roar of the throttle. Perry (no) is eager to go and so I push off and start my ride home.

The leathers are another reason I like the Aprilla. They cover my arms and wrists without anyone questioning it. At work I just always wear a long sleeved top under my scrubs to avoid any questions, but have had some odd looks when it’s hot, with patients clearly wondering if I have some sort of thermostatic problem. It’s harder outside though if it’s sunny weather and the leathers make it a bit easier.

Riding is… cathartic. I am in total control, of the motorcycle, of myself. A twist of my wrist causes power to thrum through the machine and the feeling of it charging through the machine – charging up _into_ me – is almost inexplicably good. I’ve been going on longer coastal routes when I’ve had time off, long drives along quiet roads, stopping at viewpoints and watching the sea and the sunset. Just me. Not something I could have imagined doing _before_ , but now something that is just necessary. I can act like I’m supposed to if I can just get away from myself – and everyone else – every so often. Long drives sometimes make my bad wrist ache, but it’s worth it.

The drive back is not long and I park up outside. The house is only small – and has no fucking white picket fences – but when I saw it I just knew it would be right. The settlement from Steve’s estate was surprisingly high. I was mainly just relieved I didn’t have to go through a protracted court case, that he would settle out of court. Rather like his pleading insanity at trial. Both outcomes felt right, but were surprisingly easy. On top of that, Sacred Heart also offered an out of court settlement for me to not sue in response to being exposed to Steve at work. If I’m honest, I was never planning on doing anything about that. Doctor Cox had, I think, made vague hints to Doctor Kelso that I should be doing so, but I’d never made any plan to.

So, in essence, I ended up with a pretty sizeable amount of compensation. Particularly considering that, whilst high on a cocktail of painkillers, sedatives and antibiotics, I attempted to break into the house of the perpetrator whilst carrying a knife.

And so I bought a house. Only a small house, but the main attraction was that it sits in it’s own space. I have a garden fully encircling it – the back has been let go to nature and is a sort of wildflower meadow, whilst the front is mainly lawned with a few bushes. I’m not hugely interested in learning to garden, so it suited me fine. But I have total control of all of my own space. It’s a heady, wonderful sensation.

I open the garage and roll the Aprilia in, putting my tinted helmet and leathers away in the cupboards lining the walls. I use the side door into the house, patiently unlocking the four security locks and then pushing the PIN (0903, the date I met Turk) into the security alarm to deactivate it. I then relock the door and put the safety bar over it. Maybe it’s OTT, but these things – these little rituals – help. If I had a heart attack in here and needed emergency services I’d be fucked, of course, but it’s a trade off.

The house is open plan, painted pale, inoffensive colors. I’d had it designed that way, wanting it to be as relaxing as possible. It does look a bit impersonal though, although Rowdy stands in pride of place near the sofa (black leather, very chic). I should probably put up photos or something, but it’s… fine. It has a huge TV (oh yes) and wall to ceiling windows at the back of the house (safety glass, very hard to shatter) to allow a view of the sunset over the wildflower meadow. Why didn’t I think of that earlier? Watching that view, safe behind thick glass, curled in the high backed chair I have there?

The rest of the downstairs consists of the kitchen set with a bar and a dining area. It’s all very contemporary and impressive when set off with the sunset view, despite it being relatively small. I’m oddly proud of it (considering I essentially bought it with blood money) and I have a vague urge to show it off, but the idea of having anyone inside this space – _my space –_ is difficult for me. I’ll probably get over it soon, but I know Carla and Turk are hurt that I haven’t invited them over to see it when I’ve lived here over a month.

I head up the spiral staircase to the bedroom (two on the floor, mine and a spare, both en suite, both like something out of a designer interior magazine). The kingsize bed with the soft gray comforter looks very inviting, but I walk through into the bathroom and shower. There’s no mirrors in here – that’s intentional – but afterwards I sigh and sprawl naked on the bed. I know what I’m supposed to go and do now – an exercise started earlier in my therapy which I have to do every day. “Self acceptance”. The build up always makes me nauseated.

I pad quietly through to the spare bedroom, where the only full length mirror is. Take a deep breath and look.

I’m supposed to focus on the things I am happy with. I narrow my eyes slightly. The majority of the shallow cuts didn’t scar, I’m happy with that. The exercise routine (mainly running, some basic phys sometimes – I had wanted to swim, but unless a wetsuit was available then that’s _not_ an option) has resulted in my body having a lightly toned physique which I’ve never had before. I quite like that and it helps hide some of the worst of the scarring. I like… my hair? The slightly longer, less gelled look works.

I sigh. Then I categorize what I’m “learning to be happy with”. I am not happy that my left wrist didn’t quite set straight, likely from the multiple rebreakings that occurred and Steve’s gift of breaking it again when I was at his house. It’s only lost a little dexterity, but the way it stays at slight angle away from my body when I’m relaxed bothers me. I’m not happy that both wrists are badly scarred and the burns are still very slightly visible. I’m not happy with the scar in the palm of my right hand, visibly a defensive wound. I’m not happy with the scars that still show on my back (5) and the ones still visible on my chest (2). I roll my shoulders and move to look at my back to check that the scars (and the tattoo) have not faded and to confirm that I still have not “learned to be happy” about them.

I finally look at my left forearm, at the still clearly visible “WORTHLESS” dug into the flesh. Even the bravest of my counsellors didn’t try to get me to add that I should learn to be happy with that onto the list.

Completed, I dash back to my room and put on shorts and thin, long sleeved top, covering up all the ugliness. In a sense, the acceptance therapy has worked. I can actually look at myself, however much I hate doing it. To begin with each time was a physical wrench and, to my shame, on a few occasions Carla and Turk had had to drag me away from a mirror, sobbing. Now it’s more of a distasteful ritual that I perform each evening.

I go back downstairs and fix a salad, then slump in front of the TV. The TV is generally on when I’m home, although I don’t always watch it, just use it as white noise. Or maybe to feel like there’s someone here, someone who doesn’t pose a threat. I sigh and stretch, forking at the salad absently as I stare at flickering images.

_I’m doing good._

_So why do I feel so empty?_


	2. 02. My Meadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mild fluff

_"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I really am sorry."_

_I tear my gaze away from the whip to look up at him, my eyes wild._

_"Sorry for what?"_

_"I have to do… what he did."_

_"No you don't," I whimper desperately. "You don't have to do anything!"_

I awake with a start, my alarm wailing at me. I wrench myself upright, thump the alarm and change into my running gear, not allowing myself time to think or to continue that memory. If I ignore it then it’ll eventually go back to where it came from, dwelling on it doesn’t help. I grab my iPod and go for a run, my feet pounding along the pavements and grasses in my neighborhood, a light rain falling over me. After running for an hour I feel better, feel calmer. I get home and gulp down water before showering and grabbing a homemade smoothie out of the refrigerator.

A lot of people have commented on my “health kick”. It’s bullshit really, it’s not anything to do with my health, although I admit that for someone who subsisted on sugar and old pizza it probably looks like a big change.

It’s _control_. It’s knowing exactly what’s in what I’m eating and drinking and controlling it. Controlling what goes into my body –

I shudder. Enough of that. On motorcycle. Ride to work.

\- - - - -

I pull up into the parking lot at the same time as Doctor Cox’s Porsche makes an appearance. The tinted helmet offers me a certain amount of anonymity, but I’m pretty sure he knows it’s me. I’ve had the Aprilia a few months now and was trying to hide it from him ( _“we-he-hell, Penelope, someone’s trying too hard”_ – from a man driving a _Porsche_ nonetheless). I grunt and pull up into one of the cycle spaces before removing my helmet and watching him reverse park like a boss. It’s annoying how easily he does it.

_The Janitor wearing an umpire cap and a score board currently at 23._

_“Ladies and gentleman, Doctor Dorian demonstrating a 24 point turn!”_

_I lean out of the car window: “It’s harder than it looks, I don’t want to scrape the Porsche!”_

“Reverse parking is totally different from a three point turn.” I frown.

“What’s that, Annie Wilkes?”

I realize that I’m straddling my Aprilia, staring into space whilst he’s gotten out of the car and is standing next to me. I quickly dismount and then roll my eyes at him.

“You’re running low on those names.”

“I thought that one was quite good. A girl and mentally unstable.”

“You must be out of them soon.’

“I must admit that I’m spending far too much of my precious time researching this particular topic,” he gives me a slightly manic grin. “The trick is finding examples that you will actually get. Calling you Justin II, for example, would fit, but I doubt you know who he is.”

“Nnnope.”

“Nnnnnokay, thought not. He had a wheeled throne and bit his attendants. There are theories he was a cannibal as well.”

“Right. Well, I’m glad my existence improves your capacities as a quiz team member.”

He laughs humorlessly and we start to walk into Sacred Heart together.

“I could use the motorcycle?”

“What?”

“I could switch to famous bikers. Would you respond to Evel Knievel?”

“You know I respond to whatever, I didn’t realize you put this much thought into it.”

“I’m hurt, Newbie.”

“Sure you are,” I smirk at him. He smiles back, then does one of his weird aborted movements where he looks like he’s about to touch me then thinks better of it and shoves his hands into his hair.

We fall into a relatively companionable silence as we walk through reception and through to the locker rooms, at which point I shuffle around awkwardly before taking off the leathers, exposing my T shirt and thin pants underneath. Doctor Cox glances across at me, obviously trying not to look at my arms and failing. I’d like to think that it’s professional interest, since he was so involved in my care and aftercare, but still get the unpleasant feeling that it’s morbid curiosity.

I bundle the leathers and helmet into my locker and retrieve my scrubs and long sleeved top before scuttling off to the nearest bathroom to change, ignoring that Doctor Cox has unself-consciously stripped off and appears to be admiring himself in a nearby mirror. He can do that. He’s well built, tan and not covered in hideous, disfiguring scars proclaiming just how _worthless_ he is. Just the opposite of me.

I kick the door shut behind me and pull my T shirt off. There’s a full length mirror in the restroom – I’ve sidled into the accessible restroom, more room and less likelihood of being disturbed. I determinedly don’t look at myself in the mirror and turn my back on myself. Unfortunately this brings me face to face with the mirror above the sink, reflecting back the rather unpleasant view of my back this provides. The occasional belt welt is still visible, with deep scarring from those bastard studs. I snarl slightly at myself and pull the thin long sleeved shirt on, covering the grotesque mess of my body. I scrabble into the rest of my scrubs and sigh, trying to center myself. ( _See Craig? See, I do try, I’m just crap at it._ )

Bad thoughts. Put them in a box and lock them away, don’t think about them.

I really need to come up with that grounding image he was talking about. It’s a shame nothing actually makes me feel safe, though. Even the myriad of locks and bolts on the house don’t give me complete confidence.

I pull on the wrist brace I use on my left wrist where I’ve lost some of the dexterity and stops the shaking when I’m trying to use it delicately. It also hides the worst of the scarring and the sleeve on my right arm is long enough to cover the slightly less damaged right wrist.

I stare at myself in the mirror, at the blue, slightly lost eyes that gaze back at me. _I’m happy that I’m alive. I’m happy with how I look dressed. I’m happy that there’s a slight edge of menace to me now, something that would have kept Steve away (probably) before. I’m happy I’m not trying to be over compensatingly macho any more, that I have accepted that is not me. My hair looks good. I look good, the healthy diet and exercise mean I look better than I ever did before as long as no one sees under-_

_Don’t think that._

I’m not convinced I’ve really centered myself, but I feel calmer. I collect my discarded clothes and go back to the locker room to stow them away. Doctor Cox is still hanging around. I lift my eyebrows at him.

“Get lost admiring yourself?”

“Well, I am deeply impressive.”

His response is oddly sarcastic, considering he likely genuinely believes that. I roll my eyes again, unable to think of any way to respond. I pull my locker open.

“Talking of impressive, have you been working out Newbie?”

I frown and glance around the edge of the locker suspiciously at him. “What?”

He shrugs self-consciously. “You just look… uhm, more toned?”

He is being _incredibly_ awkward. What is with him? Does he think I’ve got an eating disorder or something? (I definitely haven’t, I eat 2,500 calories a day, I _know_ because I measure it all.)

“I’ve been running.” I slam the locker and lock it, continuing to watch him warily. “I’ve been running for about 6 months though, nothing new.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, you look good.” He looks at me awkwardly again.

What? What? Did he just _compliment_ me?

_Pigs fly over the sky. Bob Kelso skates on a lake in hell. Doctor Cox shrugs._

_“What? You do look good.”_

“You’re not trying to look like a man again are you, Daphne? I know trans rights are a big thing nowadays, but you shouldn’t be ashamed of your natural femininity.”

“Shut up” I mutter. “And the short hair wasn’t that bad.”

He smirks and walks out, obviously expecting me to follow. I trail after him.

“I know I mocked your hair and the amount of product you used, Newbie, but the short hair was a goddamn _disaster_. You looked like something that had crawled out of Chernobyl.”

“Should I expect you to call me girls names with radioactive connotations now? Insane radioactive connotations?”

“… Marie Curie?”

“I don’t think a Nobel prize winner can be called insane.”

He shrugs.

“I guess you’ll Google something tonight.”

“You bet your ass I will.”

I pick my charts up from the nurse’s station. Carla was clearly awaiting me and ambushes me as I do so.

“JD!”

I look up at her, holding the charts in my left hand as I reach my right towards a pen.

“Carla?”

“JD!” She is bouncing on her heels. The enthusiasm is slightly unnerving.

“Carlaaaaa?”

“Are we just going to get this on repeat? Because, I can tell ya, it doesn’t make an entertaining show.” Doctor Cox is looking mildly resentful.

“JD, how is your new place?”

_Oh shit, she wants to see it. She’s a good friend, she just wants to make sure I’m not living in a crack den…_

I notice my left hand shaking slightly, an annoying combination of stress fatigue from how badly it was damaged and the weird PTSD symptoms that I’m constantly trying to choke into submission. It’s more pronounced by the charts clacking together, something I notice Doctor Cox glancing at, so I drop them back onto the station and pull my hand back to the relative safety of my body.

“It’s… good, yeah, it’s good, Carla,” I smile. _It’s awesome, I live in a goddamn style magazine._ “I’m still getting the final touches in place, it’s a bit ‘work in progress’” – I mime quotation marks in the air – “but as soon as it’s ready you guys should definitely come see it.”

“Are you going to have a party?”

She looks so pleased it feels like kicking a puppy.

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. Sorry. But you guys should come for… uh, for dinner. Like, a dinner party?”

I smile and pick the charts up again, frowning at the top one.

_I shouldn’t be doing this, I was supposed to be further along my career now…_

Of course taking so much time off to recover – and be institutionalized – means I’m behind.

“Oh… well, that sounds very _fancy_.” Carla smiles at me. “Let me know when and Turk and I will be delighted. But let us know if you need help with anything.”

“Thanks, will do.”

“You look good, by the way.”

I glance at her suspiciously, but can’t see any malice behind it. _You look good, apart from what I know is under that top because I treated you-_

“Thanks. You too. I’m going to go and see-“ I glance down – “Mrs Frobischer. I hope she looks good too.”

“Probably not, she’s just had a colonoscopy.”

I grimace and walk off in the direction of Mrs Frobischer’s room.

“A _dinner party_ , Newbie?”

Oh God, I forgot about him.

“I thought you’d be having sleepovers with your little friends already. Are you saying you’ve been on your own in your new place for over a month with no Gandhi-shaped snuggle blanket, Nigella?”

“Like I said, it’s not ready yet.”

“Ready for what? I saw your old apartment, it looked like it had been broken in to. And someone left a dead dog to intimidate you.”

I sigh and turn to him.

“Don’t you have patients? I have to go see Mrs Frobischer and see how much she enjoyed her colonoscopy-“ ( _who enjoys getting something inserted into their – oh God, don’t think about that, why is this the first patient of my day, honestly, why?_ ) “- so you should probably go and see whichever poor bastard is going to be inflicted with you. We both know I can handle this. Please?”

I’m hoping he didn’t notice the odd flicker in my eyes at the colonoscopy comment, but as he notices _everything_ then this is a useless hope. He nods curtly and then strides off, looking impressively doctorly, whilst I stand there in the corridor feeling small and broken and stupid.

“I had a colonoscopy once.”

I look back at the demon in gray coveralls and hopelessly try to think of something inoffensive to say.

“Did you? I hope it was all fine.”

_No I don’t, I hope they found a garden gnome up there._

“Are you making fun of my colonoscopy?”

“No, of course not, I’m a doctor… oh God…”

I bound off up the corridor as the janitor heaves a urinal cake at my head, missing by a few inches and rebounding off the wall into my stomach. Some things don’t change. I shouldn’t have banished Doctor Cox.

\- - - - -

My day goes… well, badly. The colonoscopy issues aside, I had a diabetic who refused to stop eating sugar (“but cake is so good” “cake in moderation?” “no”), an emphysema patient who refused to stop smoking and then someone who had eaten well and exercised their entire life and suffered a massive stroke. Bad day. Worse day for the patients though.

Ever since… _Steve_ … I’ve been keeping a distance, not getting too involved. I can still feel old JD trying to engage with people, but it’s pointless. I doubt I got through to any of them with my medical jargon. Well, apart from my stroke patient, who just stared at me and then asked who I was for the third time in a slurred voice. I don’t know if old JD would have gotten through to them, but he’d have _tried_. I didn’t.

So, essentially, I've showed up at the canteen for lunch in a depressed mood and carrying my salad (chicken and avocado salad, 585 calories). Turk, Carla and Elliot are already there, at our table. The Todd is also there, being loud and mildly offensive.

“Dude! Are you eating salad?”

I glance down at what is clearly a salad.

“Yeah, Todd.”

“Salad five!”

He holds up his hand. I absently high five with my right hand and drop into a fifth seat, away from the benches the others are on.

“I like to see a fellow health bro.” Todd smirks at me. I frown at him, but then am distracted by Turk.

“Hey Vanilla Bear! Carla told me about your dinner party.”

“What dinner party?” Elliot demands. “Am I not invited?”

I hear a snort and resist the urge to demand why Doctor Cox doesn’t just sit with us since he clearly listens in at every opportunity anyway.

“You’ll be invited Elliot, when I actually issue any invites.” I roll my eyes at Carla, who has the dignity to look slightly abashed.

“Am I invited?” The Todd asks.

“No.”

“What if I bring a hot date?”

“No.”

“What if I bring two hot dates?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Turk frowns. “I’m so stoked you’re nearly ready at your new place. I told Carla we should help, but she said to _give you your space-“_

“Baby.” Carla groans.

“-but it’s like serendipity, because I brought your housewarming gift with me today.”

Turk looks so pleased. I look at him for a minute, confused.

“But you guys gave me Rowdy…”

“Oh, _please._ ” Carla grimaces. “You were doing us a favor taking him.”

Turk promptly rushes off. After a period of lunch-consuming, Turk reappears. He’s dragging what appears to be a multi-colored beanbag. It absolutely _does not_ go with the magazine chic look of the house, but is so ridiculous and so _me_ – well, so me before – that I can’t help smiling at it.

“Thanks guys, that’s really sweet.” I offer a – rare – genuine smile and pick up the beanbag, which promptly wilts in my arms depressingly. “I don’t think I can fit it on the Aprilia though.”

“We could bring it and follow you.” Turk suggests cheerfully. I feel an ominous dark pull in my stomach. _I’m not ready for this, please…_

“I can take it for you.” Doctor Cox has, uncharacteristically, appeared at the table, rocking on his heels and looking at the beanbag with badly concealed horror. He glances at me and smirks.

“Unless you want Gandhi and Carla to bring it?”

I frown and him and shove the wilting, multicolored sack of beans into his arms.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He frowns down at it and I’m suddenly reminded of an anti-marijuana ad I saw when I was a teenager. Doctor Cox’s mild revulsion at the beanbag and it’s slightly reggae stripes remind me of the stilted actor in the infomercial (“don’t smoke weed kids, it’s _not dope_ ”).

He strides off, carrying the beanbag over his shoulder like it was a swooning damsel in distress. I glower after him.

“We could have helped, JD.”

“I know, but we started our shifts at the same time, so I guess it makes sense.” I sigh.

“He’s been weird ever since Gourley.” Elliot pipes up. The others (even _The Todd_?) stare at her in horror.

“What?! He has!”

I smile at her. It’s odd but nice that Elliot (and occasionally Doctor Cox, when drunk) will admit to Steve’s existence. Otherwise people pretend nothing happened. Which is oddly comforting, but sometimes makes me worry that I invented the whole thing.

\- - - - -

“Ready, Beryl Swain?”

“Google?”

“Yup, can even do it on my cell. Sadly, female motorcyclists are not well known.”

I pull my helmet on. “You’re putting too much effort into this,” I point out to him, my voice slightly muffled through the visor.

He smirks at me.

“You can’t comment on my motorcycle when you’re driving a Porsche with a stoner beanbag in the back.”

“Fair enough.”

I straddle Perry (no, that is not the name) and kick it into action. I slide my visor up to look at him before he gets into the car. “You have the address if you lose me.”

“You aren’t exactly James Bond, Sandra, I’m sure I’ll keep up.”

The drive is oddly anticlimactic. Doctor Cox trails after me quite sensibly and is unable to insult me, since he’s in a car and I’m on a motorcycle (Perry). The first visitor to my new house therefore arrives with no fanfare and pulls up behind me on the long drive. I click the proximity detector on my cell phone to open the garage door as I pull in, storing Perry and the leathers away as Doctor Cox parks and then spends time hauling the marijuana beanbag out of his passenger seat. I walk out, feeling rather exposed in the thin pants and T shirt I wear under the leathers.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Where did Gandhi and Carla buy this monstrosity?”

I unlock the 4 bolts on the front door and disarm the security system.

“Beats me. It is weirdly voluminous.”

“Nice alarm system, Newb. Does it have lasers?”

He has appeared behind me, looking at the panel I just put the code into (did he see? Does he know it’s about meeting Turk? Does he honestly care?)

“No, they were an upgrade I didn’t feel like investing in. Do you… er, do you want a drink or anything?”

He’s prowling in behind me, somehow looking cool despite the fact he’s carrying a multicolored beanbag over his shoulder. He’s looking over the open plan first floor that felt safe and secure and impressive until he sashayed in and made it feel small and cramped and… invaded. I bite down my annoyance and he glances at me and seems to shrink slightly, dropping the beanbag down by the window. He smiles at me.

“Nice place. Not really what I expected.”

“Do you want a drink?” I ask again, slightly robotically.

He glances at me suspiciously. “Nothing ending in ‘tini’.”

_Peasant._

“I’ve got beer, I’ll just get it.”

I go and retrieve a couple from the chiller and bring them back out. Doctor Cox has moved over to the window and is gazing out at the wildflower meadow outside, watching the sunset.

“Hey, Newb, how’d ya open the French doors?”

I pass him a beer. “There’s a safety catch on the right hand side, you need to engage it and then they should slide out like regular French doors.”

He slides the door open and sighs, the warm air flooding in to the room. I close my eyes briefly, a sudden feeling of freedom stealing over me. I’ve never even opened the French doors after getting the additional security fitted.

Doctor Cox has strolled out into the meadow, sipping his beer. He’s standing watching the sunset, looking ridiculously like a lead actor in a romance movie; if lead actors in romance movies had slightly crazy eyes and an alcohol problem. His broad shoulders are silhouetted against the sunset, his hair being ruffled by the breeze. I grab the beanbag and go outside, throwing it into the grass and sprawling onto it, beer in hand. Doctor Cox smirks at me and sits heavily onto the other side of the beanbag, nearly jettisoning me off of it.

His proximity makes me sit up slightly rigidly. I can’t help the automatic response, even though I know he’s fine, I know I’m safe with him. I just can’t sprawl around with no defenses when he’s close to me, particularly since he’s so… _him_.

We sit in companionable silence together, watching the sun setting. Old JD would have been desperately trying to engage him in conversation, to keep him interested so he doesn’t leave. I feel no particular urge to do so now – he’s here and he’ll leave when he feels like it, I doubt anything I do will influence him. I notice him occasionally glancing at me and catch his eye on one occasion, taking a swig of the beer. It’s relaxing to just sit and be out in the open and not feeling like I need to scan the horizon every few minutes for – _Steve_ – any threat.

Over time I feel my stupid subconscious slowly relax until I’m sitting loosely. My arm is brushing against his – my _bare_ arm, which somehow doesn’t bother me, other than an occasional slight shiver that I don’t think is anything to do with the PTSD.

After around an hour – when I’m nearly sprawled half on the beanbag and half in the grass and he’s slumped back, his long legs stretched in front of him with a leonine grace I could never emulate – I awkwardly ask if he wants to have anything to eat. I’m desperately hoping he says no – I have my eggplant pasta bake in the refrigerator and the idea of ordering a pizza and not understanding the exact ingredients makes me feel nauseated. When he does decline I’m pretty sure he notices how relieved I am. I thank him for driving the ridiculous beanbag back for me and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re welcome, Gloria. It puts some color into your house. I think it kinda needs it and I’m nahwt an interior designer. It just doesn’t look much like you.”

“You mean because it’s tasteful?”

He smirks. “Exactly. You’re tacky, Veronica, your house should be too.”

“Thanks. Please do drive safely.” I snark back.

He gives me a weird half salute and walks down the drive to his Porsche. I watch him drive off, slumped casually against the door. As soon as he’s gone I feel the familiar anxious tension that the house isn’t secure and close down the front door, bolting it. I experiment by going and sitting out in the meadow again, but instead of the secure, relaxed feeling of earlier I feel stalked and on edge, scanning around incessantly. I sigh, pick up the beanbag and close the French doors, re-engaging the security locks. I drop the beanbag down against the leather coach, where it sprawls embarrassingly. I glance at it, frowning. It apparently represents everything I _used_ to be – fun, tacky, whimsical and something that makes people smile.

Everything in my new place (apart from Rowdy) is tasteful, serious and designed to impress.

Is that what I am now? What I want to be? I sigh. It’s all messed up now anyhow, both worlds have collided with the multicolored beanbag taking residence amongst the leather couches. Now it just looks screwed up, like me.

It’s only after I’ve eaten the eggplant pasta bake (900 calories, 1,000 if you include the 2 beers I drank – should I count alcohol? It does get digested), showered, rechecked the locks, started reading a book, stopped to triple check the locks and then ended up staring blankly out of the French windows at my own reflection that I realize that I’ve finally found my “safe place” for counselling.

The meadow, the feel of the beanbag shifting under me as I relax, the breeze gently drifting across me, watching the sunset, the occasional noise of Doctor Cox taking a sip of beer.

The safest and most relaxed I’ve felt since I met Steve Gourley.


	3. 03. My Check Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm, okay, so a disclaimer for want of a better phrase; I've had a message from a reader who basically said that My Caged Performer being a JD/Cox work "ruined" My Captive Audience for them and that they wished I hadn't uploaded it. Uhm. Thanks. Authors love hearing that.
> 
> So, to be clear; My Captive Audience does not need to be read with any slashy undertones. There's a few comments in it that can be read that way, but they are entirely subjective. You don't like JD/Cox? Fine, My Captive Audience isn't. It wasn't some big lead up to the main event or anything, it's standalone. I always said that if I wrote a sequel to MCA it would end up being JD/Cox as that was how I imagined continuing it, mainly because I interpret their relationship in the show as having some slashy undertones. I've never viewed them as having a father-son dynamic (because, quite frankly, Cox is a bully to JD, that's not something to view as fatherly behaviour, even if he's sometimes nice to him). The events of MCA have not "turned" anyone or anything like that (more on that later). 
> 
> MCP, however, is (very clearly) JD/Cox - or it will be eventually. Sooo... don't like, don't read.
> 
> If you do like, please do let me know. Feeling slightly demotivated about the whole thing at the minute, which is a shame as I have been enjoying writing it :(
> 
> Anyway, rant over. First full Cox chapter, yay :)

_I’m racing down basement steps, descending into a dark hellhole. The smell of blood and sweat and terror is rising from there and I can hear quiet, horrified murmurs from below me. My heart is racing, the terror of finding pale stiff limbs and dead sightless blue eyes constantly trying to surge into my mind as I rigorously push it back. I can’t though, and the fear makes me launch myself from half-way down the stairs to the floor. I stagger and catch myself as I hear someone exclaim “fucking hell!”._

_I run over and drag Spineless away, drinking in the sight of him. Alive. He’s alive._

_He’s hunched over though, apparently chained to the radiator. The remains of his blue scrubs are in tatters around his wrists, waist and ankles. He’s covered in blood, his hair sodden and plastered to him, but most alarming is the unearthly pale color of his skin and his eyes. Eyes I was so scared I would see sightless and glassy are alive, but haunted and agonized. I crouch down and focus on him. He’s staring back, pain and anger and something unspeakable on his face._

_“Newbie?” I gasp. “Holy shit, Newbie… what in the name of…”_

_“You’re late.”_

_It’s blunt and spoken almost without emotion, apart from the edge of despair and exhaustion I can hear._

_He collapses into my lap and I hold him, feeling something inside of me break._

I awake with an in-drawn breath. I’ve not dreamt of _that_ in some time.

I sit up and scrub at my face, pulling my hands back through my hair afterwards. I leave them clasped tightly around my hair and growl to myself.

Was that because I spent the evening with JD? But it was… relaxing. Unusually relaxing, if I ignored Newbie’s tense, unflinching presence until he eventually calmed down. Then slid half off the beanbag, which I had to try _real_ hard not to laugh at, since it would make him probably revert to the weird, slightly robotic version of himself who seems incapable of dropping his defenses.

I’ve seen him with no defenses. I don’t understand why he feels the urge to keep the act up, but maybe he needs to.

I honestly miss his idiotic prattling. His constant self-control, the odd way he shuts down sometimes, how rigidly _careful_ he is all the time all just feel wrong. Even after a year – and, to be fair, he has pretty spectacularly dropped the ball on a few notable occasions – it still feels weird seeing him like that.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s _impressive_. He’s impressive, his strange designer house that he clearly doesn’t ever actually relax in – all impressive, careful, controlled.

I wish he’d just _relax_. He’s so tightly wound I’m scared he’ll break.

I sigh and glance at the glowing neon figures of my alarm clock. 0324. Great.

I slump back onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. I want to drink, I want to anaesthetize myself. I can feel the urge, whispering to me that it’s what I need to relax, that it’s not a problem, that it just takes the edge off. It’s not _bad_ , it’s not like I’m a drunk, it’s just helpful. The medication for the illness of being me.

I throw an arm over my eyes. It’s not a compulsion, just a gnawing, unsettling feeling. I can ignore it, I _know_ I can ignore it.

What if I go back to sleep and that dream comes back. Or one of the others, that can be even worse? Or that bastard Gourley telling me… telling me…

The scotch is already in my hand. Then down my throat. Then another.

\- - - - -

All things considered, I actually feel pretty good four hours later when I wake up on the couch. A slight headache, but nothing too bad. I feel a brief, uncharacteristic pulse of shame at the sight of the nearly empty bottle – I only got that last week, how’ve I gone through it so quickly?

I frown at the offending empty bottle and then go throw it in the trash.

It then occurs to me that I’m at a loose end. My shift doesn’t start until 1200; I have just under four hours to fill. And I have no clue what to do.

I sigh and collapse back onto the couch. My life is such a mess. When _exactly_ did this happen? I’ve spent so long overworking – and then when I wasn’t overworking I was preoccupied with something to do with JD, either _finding_ the little bastard when Gourley took him or being focused on his aftercare. Then worrying about his mental health and stalking him to stop him doing something stupid. Then failing to stop him doing something stupid and finding him again. Then making various attempts to stop him being committed, then getting him _out_ of being committed, then the trial… and it goes on and on and on _and on and on_.

But then it stopped and I ended up slightly lost and left only with those _horrific_ memories that I’m trying and failing to drown in scotch.

I could try overworking again?

I give up trying to do anything to get myself out of this godawful situation and go to the gym to take all of my self-loathing out on my body.

\- - - - -

“So, Jordan left you again, huh?”

I glance up from reading a patient’s chart to gaze back at Carla.

“Huh?”

“Jordan left you again.” She enunciates, like she’s talking to a moron.

“What makes you think that?”

She gives me a pitying look and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, she’s moved permanently in with her harpy of a mother. I’m seeing Jack every other weekend, if I have the time away from this hellhole.”

Carla look surprised. “Oh. That sounds more serious than I thought it was.”

“Yeah, well…” I pull a face. “I’m never ‘present’ apparently.” I wriggle my fingers in the air, ridiculous air punctuation. “Wah. So, yeah…”

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Present?”

I run a hand through my hair. “I’m not the most ‘present’ guy, if ya hadn’t noticed. I kinda thought Jordan got that about me.”

“Are you alright?”

She reaches forward to touch my hand and I pull back slightly, watching her hand suspiciously. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Do you want to come over to mine and Turk’s for dinner one night next week?”

I look at her in exaggerated horror.

“Before you-“ she begins.

“Noooooooooooooooo.” I drown her out, drawling the word out to emphasize the point. I notice my heart rate has sped up, reacting to the sudden discomfort I’m feeling about everything, about Carla trying to get close to me. She does _not_ want to get into my head. I barely want to be there most of the time. “I genuinely can _nahwt_ think of anything worse than having dinner with you and bowling ball head.”

I smirk. “If it was just _you_ , of course…” I lift my eyebrows.

She looks at me in revulsion. “You are disgusting.”

“Carla, have you got Mr Stringer’s blood works there?”

JD has come over at some point during that discussion. I feel an odd drop in my stomach that he heard that last exchange ( _why?_ ) and again feel that unaccustomed sense of shame I felt earlier in the morning. It’s because I don’t like making any jokes that imply sex around Newbie, obviously. Nothing else.

“Sure Bambi, give me a sec.”

Carla bends down and rummages under the desk for a moment. I glance sideways at him, taking in the usual blue scrubs with a black long sleeved top underneath today. His hair looks slightly messed up, the ungelled look still sitting slightly oddly with me. He looks back at me and holds my gaze, a slightly odd expression on his face.

“Since Doctor Cox is being an ass-“ Carla interrupts us, making us both jump slightly and look away. “JD, do you want to come over for dinner this week?”

I growl at being described as an ass, despite it being pretty accurate.

I notice Newbie look slightly confused and suspect he’s close to asking “why?” and then catches himself. “Uh, sure. Is it a special occasion?”

“No, just we’re missing you since you moved out. And since you won’t invite us over…” Newbie shuffles awkwardly.

“It’s nearly ready, you guys will be the first over when it is.”

I am _so_ tempted to point out I went to his place the previous night and it looked fine to me. I grin at him evilly and watch his horrified reaction when he realizes what I’m thinking. Carla is still rummaging and he shakes his head at me in a slightly panicked way. I widen the evil grin.

“I’ve changed my mind, Carla, I’ve come up with a few things that would be worse than an evening with you and Gandhi-“ ( _dinner with Bobo, dinner with Steve Gourley, dinner with Hugh Jackman_ ) “- so I will grace you with my company.”

I continue looking at him and then smirk at Newbie, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow either him or me.

“Oh, we’re _honored_.” Carla sighs and eventually finds the results Newbie was after, handing it over to him. I notice his left hand shakes again when he takes the file and wonder if I should ask him if he wants me to check that over.

“How’s Wednesday?”

“Wednesday is great for me.”

“I have plans, sorry. Thursday?”

We both glance at Newbie in surprise. He raises his eyebrows.

Before all this shit happened Carla would have been trying to find out if he was on a date, since we both know he’s not working that evening. I see her falter slightly as she thinks it, but is too compassionate to say anything. Fortunately, I am an enormous bastard and can’t be changed.

“Ladies night at Coyote Ugly?” I ask him.

“Something like that. Thanks Carla.” He glances down at the chart and grimaces. “Great. Now I get to tell Mr Stringer he has diabetes and really shouldn’t eat that birthday cake his daughter brought him when she visited.”

He sighs and heads off. I’m slightly thrown by being dismissed so effectively by him.

“He almost sounded sarcastic then. I think he’s lost some of his empathy.” Carla looks worried.

“I doubt it.” I say, watching him retreating. “I imagine he’s just a bit more cynical now he’s seen what happens when you show empathy to the wrong person.”

I sigh and look back at the chart, then look up in response to the frigid waves emanating from Carla.

“What happened to him wasn’t because he was empathetic.” Carla snarls. I bite my tongue, knowing arguing this point is useless. Anything that implies JD was targeted because of anything he did – or how he _was_ – makes Carla turn into a roaring mother tiger and (despite the likely sexual thrill achieved in doing so) I’m not awakening that in her.

“No, but it’ll be on his mind.” I try to defuse her. When defusion doesn’t seem to be viable I try to throw her attention instead. “I presume you and the other nurses are still filtering his cases?”

“Of course. We didn’t need you to tell us not to give him any abuse or trauma patients, you know.” She responds stiffly.

“No psych cases either?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re not doing it for _you_.” Her expression softens. “Should his wrist still be affected like that?”

“Not sure. I’d like to check on it, but he’s not exactly that willing to talk about any of his aftercare. He still hides in the restroom when he gets changed, I doubt he’ll react well to my asking to check his wrist.”

“You don’t usually care if he reacts well or not.”

I shrug. She glares at me and I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll ask him if I can do a check up on him later.”

“You do that. And if you torment him at dinner I’ll poison you.”

I roll my eyes theatrically and smirk. “On Thursday, right? Because Newbie has a date on Wednesday.”

She glares at me. “Ass.”

I wink at her and then resume studying the chart. _What is he doing on Wednesday?_

\- - - - -

A couple hours later I corner Newbie in the lounge. He’s sat apparently writing notes, but a glance over his shoulder before he’s realized I’m there shows that he’s doodling on a medical pad, drawing what appears to be a superhero outfit with “SCD” written next to it. I decide not to raise it, expecting the answer will be depressing beyond belief.

I throw myself into the chair opposite him, making him jump and self-consciously scrabble over to the next sheet in his pad, clearly embarrassed over whatever it was he was drawing. He begins writing, but appears to simply be writing medical terms in alphabetical order.

“Hey, Newbie, Carla has asked me to check up on you.”

He frowns slightly, writing _alopecia_ followed by _anemia_.

“Who’s your bald anemic patient?”

He glances up at me. “Um. Mr… Stringer.”

“I thought he was diabetic?”

“Yeah… he’s really unlucky…”

“Yes, particularly if he’s got every alphabetic condition between alopecia and diabetes. There’s a hell of a lot of cancers in there, Newbie.”

He flinches slightly and then closes the notebook.

“Like I was saying, Carla asked me to check up on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t mean check up like that. I’d leave that to Carla, then you girls can compare notes on your period.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I mean check up in a medical sense, Denise. Your wrist is clearly not progressing as we’d expected.”

“I preferred the motorcycle names.”

“Well, you don’t get them unless you behave.”

“I have no particular urge to be examined and called girl’s names, thanks…”

“It’s not a request, Newbie. You know if I don’t do as she asks then next time you see Carla she’ll be wearing some truly impressive testicle themed earrings.”

He looks mildly sickened and crosses his arms across his stomach in a defensive gesture. It grudgingly prompts a sympathetic response in me, as well as a repeat of the unpleasant, stomach-dropping sensation from earlier.

“I do need to check, JD. I’m worried about your wrist too, as it happens. And I would like to see how the rest is healing; from what I’ve seen of your arms it looks like it’s clean, but I’d like to confirm that.”

This does kinda give away the fact I’ve been checking him out – checking _on him_ – already, but it really did look like they were healing well.

He gives me a suspicious look.

“I know I torment you usually, but you know I wouldn’t do that about this.” I point out gently.

He sighs. “Fine. But not in here, I don’t want anyone else around.”

“C’mon, examination room five is free.”

\- - - - -

I realize I haven’t seen Newbie without the wrist brace for a long period of time. His left arm looks oddly naked without it and the slight tremor in it is more pronounced. I gently rotate the delicate bones in his hand before manipulating the ulna and radius together. His wrist didn’t quite set right – the repeated rebreakings causing an alignment issue. I’m suspecting there’s some nerve damage as well, only really becoming clear as he slowly recovers.

I interlink our fingers, holding his hand against mine. When he was recovering I remember the nausea I felt when I noticed how slender and delicate his arm was, that I could encompass it easily in my hand and the surge of fury I’d felt that someone would hurt him. I feel an echo of this as I notice how much slimmer his hand is than mine, although his fingers are nearly as long.

“Push.” I instruct him. He presses back against me, the tremor intensifying as he does so.

I repeat the exercise with his right hand. There is a slight tremor in that too, I notice, but much less severe. His palm has scarred slightly, but not too bad, what used to be a clear defensive wound now could be from anything.

I examine both wrists, the encircled burns and scars faded but still visible. They’ve generally healed well, considering the extent of the damage.

“Your right wrist seems to have complete mobility back, but the shaking seems to suggest some problem.” I frown.

“I think it’s psychogenic tremors.”

If I’m honest here, I was expecting him to be sullen and ignore me. Not to have already considered the issue and diagnosed himself. He notices my surprise and shrugs.

“When I’m stressed it’s worse. It occurs with PTSD, one of my therapists noticed it too.”

“Possibly. Your left wrist is more than that though, I’m pretty sure there’s nerve damage there, Newb.”

He nods gloomily. I continue manipulating his left hand, noticing he doesn’t quite have full rotation either.

“Good thing I didn’t want to be a surgeon, right?”

I glance at him and give him a half-smile, not quite sure if I should acknowledge this dark humor or not. “We could get a surgical consult and see if there’s anything more they can do.”

He shrugs.

“I need to see the rest.”

He hesitates, then slowly rolls up his right sleeve. I bite back the urge to tell him to take his damn shirt off and satisfy myself that his right arm is fine apart from the damage to his wrist and palm. I look expectantly at his left and see a flicker on panic in his eyes, before he stares at the floor and rolls up his left sleeve, determinedly not looking at me or his arm.

I remember the fury – the blazing, white hot _fury_ – when I first saw his arm. That someone could have done that, to label JD this way, had made me so angry I had wanted to tear the room apart. Knowing how much it would hurt him, but also feeling a sick, guilty twinge at the things I would say, so similar to it, but so different in intent. He was not – could never be – _worthless_. But it’s still there, still so clearly legible and still so clearly painful to him, so painful that he can’t even look at it.

There’s the additional scar as well, the one he added around seven months ago.

He had been quiet at the time, withdrawn and introverted. We hadn’t really been sure what to do about it. Of course we knew the “WORTHLESS” scar bothered him far more than the rest, we’d all seen him looking at it fixedly when he thought we weren’t around. And, _obviously,_ it did bother him. How could it not?

He’d still been living with Gandhi and Carla at the time, so they’d been able to keep an eye on him at home. So we’d tried to keep a check on him at Sacred Heart, keeping tabs on patients, on where he was taking his breaks, to the extent that I suspect we crowded him and made him even more stressed out about the whole thing.

Anyway, he suffered one of his truly impressive meltdowns and I walked into the lounge to find him with a scalpel in his hand, digging it into his forearm. He had been planning on scoring through the letters carved into him, he was so tired of seeing them every day.

I stopped him. Obviously. By which I mean I dragged the scalpel out of his hand, getting blood all over the coffee table, and yelled at him about having enough scars and then immediately dragging him off to get yet more fucking sutures.

So, he’d gone from “WORTHLESS” to “—WORTHLESS”.

I had pointed out that it would still have been visible whether it was scored through or not. He had looked at me with weird dead eyes and I’d shut up.

The lettering is clean and tidy, scarred over white. His pale skin means it’s not as clearly visible as I suspect he thinks it is; ironically, the scar he added himself draws the eye more, being deeper and more recent.

I sigh.

“It’s healed well, Newbie.”

“It’s hideous.”

I’m unable to really respond. It _is_ hideous – it’s hideous that someone did it to him. It doesn’t make him in any way hideous, but I know this is an argument he’ll either ignore or refute.

“I need to see the rest.”

He meets my eyes for a second, then turns his back to me and takes off both tops.

What I initially note is that he really has been taking his exercise seriously. I doubt he’d ever be muscular – he’s not built for that – but he’s definitely in much better shape than I’ve seen him before, each muscle defined and looking lean. It also helps hide the scarring to some extent.

Five of the whip marks have not faded, unsurprising considering how deep they were. I frown; Gourley’s pathetic “I had to do it to him because it happened to me” argument had failed magnificently when it was pointed out that Gourley had never had a studded whip applied to him. His father had used a belt and had left a few scars, but Gourley had intentionally used something so sure to scar on JD.

Sick fucker.

Two vertical and three diagonal scars run across JD’s back. His slightly more defined musculature across his shoulders hides some of the upper scarring. Considering what was done it has healed surprisingly well.

“I’ll need to touch you to check on them, if you’re happy to let me?”

Is that my voice? So low, so… caring? Concerned about startling him?

He stiffens slightly, then nods abruptly.

I gently press against each scar, checking the recoil of muscle and skin. He’s warm and surprisingly firm against my touch and I reconsider some of my “poor slender waif” internal comments, knowing they’re unnecessarily victimizing him.

I prod the tattoo and smirk at the muttered “fuck off” he responds with.

“What a delightful debutant you are,” I chide him. “Turn around, please.”

He turns, clasping his hands behind his back, hiding his arms from sight again, and looks up at the ceiling to avoid looking at his chest. Again, I’m taken slightly aback by the change in him, the toned chest tapering down to his slender waist again a result of his uncharacteristic exercise regimen.

I repeat the process with the three scars still on his front, one long slash down the center of his chest and two horizontal slashes across his stomach. All healed well, the ones on his stomach looking like they will eventually fade entirely, although the one on his chest was particularly vicious and unlikely to ever fully fade.

“We’re done on the examination, Newbie.”

He grabs the long sleeved top and pulls it back on, visibly relaxing as he covers himself up.

Considering how much he avoids allowing anyone to see him topless I was expecting something much worse. He’s healed well. I decide just to be blunt about it, no sense in trying to honey-coat something to a medical professional, particularly one so astute as JD.

_Did I just call him astute?_

“Your left wrist bothers me. I’d like to get some more diagnostics on that, whether we can do anything to improve your mobility. The right is fine and the damage to your palm has healed well. Your left forearm has healed well, the scarring is not shocking insomuch as the… _message_ is shocking.” He nods slightly. “Your back and chest are both healing well, but likely to remain with some scar tissue. I think the scarring on your stomach will go in time, it’s notably faded compared to the rest. Have you had any breathing difficulties?”

“No.”

“None at all? I’d have thought with lung infection you had and regular running you’d have had some issues.”

He shrugs. “I sometimes get short of breath during runs and rest if it happens.”

“Okay, keep an eye on it.”

He’s not put his scrubs top back on and is back in his protective stance, arms clasped around his black sleeves.

“The scarring really isn’t that noticeable, JD.” I say quietly. “I’m not going to claim that… monstrosity on your arm doesn’t bother me, but it really is healing well.

He glances up and gives me a small smile.

“Thanks, Doctor Cox. For… well, being honest. You have no idea how many of those therapists claimed I should be happy with myself while they looked like they would puke at the sight of _this_.” He gestures at his left arm.

I shrug. “It doesn’t reflect on you. It reflects on the bastard who put it there.”

He gives me another small smile and turns to leave.

“That _tattoo_ however, remains godawful

“Get lost.”


	4. 04. My Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly dislike the phrase "trigger". It's something that's used almost colloquially (always makes me think of that damn triggered meme) and anyone who has ever suffered being triggered will know it's absolutely nothing to joke about. However much I dislike the phrase, this chapter has a serious trigger warning. It goes into more depth describing some of the rape than in "My Captive Audience" and so please do be careful if this is likely to cause you any problems.
> 
> Thank you so much for reviewing :)

_He's forced my knees apart and however much I try to kick him I can't manage it. The more I struggle, the more the agony in my wrists intensifies. I'm dangling by my wrists and him holding onto me._

_I try to clamp my legs back together, but he’s crouched between them, starting to force my leg up above his shoulder with one hand as the other is unbuckling his belt._

_“Please, Steve, please don’t do this.” My voice sounds raw, weak, pleading. He briefly looks into my eyes, a haunted, excited glance, before he shakes his head and looks away. I try to pull back, but the pain in my wrists screams at me. I wriggle, arching my back, tensing desperately away from him, but his hands are on me, pulling me back._

_I close my eyes._

_I'm not going to watch him. It's the only defense I've got left._

I glare at the floor, sat in the waiting room. Dwelling on this is really not helping, I’m supposed to be about to embark on a “distressing” form of therapy and reliving it already. Maybe it’s anxiety? I self-consciously rub a hand over my left forearm, trying to wring some comfort out of the soft material of the top I’m wearing. I’m not sure if I find the touch of it against my hand or my arm more relieving and think about the images I studied in medical school about the nervous system. For some reason I keep thinking about Vesalius imagery, weird medieval images (well, Renaissance technically) drawn after observing autopsies. Very advanced for the time, of course, but an odd thing for a modern professional to think about…

_I remove the plague doctor hat, all weird beak and smelling of sulphur._

_“I’m sorry, Mr Fisher, but you have plague. Fortunately there’s a new advanced treatment; leaches.”_

Ew.

I glance at the clock. I’m early, Craig is presumably still with his previous patient. Why do I always arrive to things I’m worried about early, I always then sit for ten or fifteen minutes feeling nauseated and getting more and more stressed? It’s why I’m terrible at first dates.

I’m not great at second dates either, actually.

Not that I’m likely to be able to cope with dating, of course.

I mean, I _tried_. During my macho, over-compensating phase, I’d go to bars and hit on pretty girls. I actually got a bit of action, but kept freaking out before I really got anywhere. I then got incredibly drunk and had sex with a girl in a restroom. It was _horrible_.

We did it doggy style and I couldn’t see her face (mainly so she couldn’t see me). Every noise she made sounded agonized; I kept asking her if she was okay and she said she was. I was sure she was hating it, that she was in pain, that she was desperate for me to stop, but she kept saying she was fine. She eventually came (or pretended to) and for the first time in my life I faked an orgasm; I barely needed to even hide anything, I really _was not_ hard by this point.

I was expecting her face to be tear-stained and for her to limp, but she turned around with a big grin on her face, kissed me and gave me her number. She genuinely appeared to have really enjoyed it, when I had been sure she had hated it. Of course, I didn’t contact her.

I remember telling Craig about it; he thought I was projecting onto her. Which is pretty obvious, but still, I seem to be scared of fucking anyone. Probably linked to Steve’s weird rants about how hurting someone else was the only way to get someone to understand. I’m scared of fucking someone, I’m even more scared of becoming like him.

“Doctor Dorian? Mr Gillespie will see you now.”

I glance up at the receptionist, thank him with a fake smile and walk through. Craig is sat, apparently flicking through his notes on me (he writes copious notes, I’m always tempted to ask him whether he’s just writing “fucked up” over and over again). I notice that he’s switched his Converse for a pair of Vans and feel weirdly flattered that he thought about it.

Or maybe he just didn’t want me to see his cartoon socks again?

“Hey.” I greet him. He smiles at me, looking rather tired (and I wonder, has he been dreading this as much as me?).

“Hi JD,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

_That was quick._

I close the door.

“Anxious, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“Okay, anxious. For definite, no supposition.”

He smiles again. “Well, let’s talk about that. How has the last week been?”

_Ugh_.

“Oh… standard. Work’s been dispiriting, I seem to have only been dealing with giving people bad news.” I sigh. “Otherwise, not much. Oh, someone came around to my house.”

Craig raises his eyebrows. “Why did you include that as a casual addition at the end? I know that’s a big deal for you.”

I shrug awkwardly. “Because it shouldn’t be a big deal, a colleague coming over and having a beer. Also, I was kind of pressurized into it, so it doesn’t feel like much of an achievement.”

“Pressurized?”

“Well, put in a position where saying no would have looked odd. I suppose imposed on rather than pressurized is a better way of putting it.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“Annoyed. Initially, anyway, it felt invasive. But after a while I could relax and it was okay.”

“Who was it?”

“Doctor Cox.”

Craig nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Obviously, having recounted The Tale of Steve previously, Craig is aware of the major “actors”, so knows of most people in my life. Generally speaking he doesn’t comment on any of their behaviors (more usually asking me what I think of what someone says or does), but has occasionally seemed mildly intrigued by Doctor Cox, even going so far as psychoanalyzing him on a couple occasions.

“Oh, I think I have decided on my safe place.”

“Safe place?” he laughs. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it. What is it?”

“There’s a meadow outside my house. I was there watching the sunset and honestly felt the most relaxed and safe I have since before… it happened…”

“Outside?” He sounds surprised.

“Yeah.”

If Craig connects Doctor Cox being at my place and the slightly uncharacteristic choice of “safe place” (having previously told him I don’t particularly like being outside – I’m not agoraphobic or anything, just it can make me nervous) then he doesn’t say anything.

Actually, I am kinda agoraphobic, but not badly so…

Well, I can _deal_ with it, so it isn’t that bad.

“Alright, let’s try this; you need to be able to fully visualize it. Close your eyes and place yourself there.”

I close my eyes. Picture the scene.

“What do you see?”

“The sun setting over the trees, the grass and flowers waving in the breeze.”

“There’s a breeze? Can you feel it on your skin?”

“Yes… and the warmth of the sun on my face.”

“Can you hear anything?”

“Just the breeze.” (And the sound of Doctor Cox drinking a beer next to me.)

“Are you sat on the ground?”

In my head I clench my hands around the stoner sack, feeling the spill of the beans sliding inside. “No, I’m sat on a beanbag.”

“Can you smell anything?”

“Just the flowers, not strongly.” (And possibly beer, but that’s a slightly weird thing to admit.)

“Keep visualizing it. Take in how it feels, how _you_ feel, what you can feel from that environment.”

I sit and feel the sense of peace and safety around me, how the sunlight shutters red and orange over the trees, the grass tickling my feet, the way the beans mould around me, but press back, the warmth of Doctor Cox’s arm against mine, the breeze gently running over my skin. I know I’m not there, but it _feels_ like I am.

“Open your eyes.”

I slowly do so, noting Craig looks oddly pleased.

“Well done, JD, that seems to be right for you. How do you feel?”

“Relaxed… that was weird…”

“We are very imaginative creatures and you are particularly so. If we can conjure up something that relaxes us and really focus on it then we can transfer some of those feelings and emotions to the situation. You’ll notice your heartbeat has slowed and your breathing is deeper, which is a natural reaction to this exercise.”

I grudgingly note he’s right.

“I want to label that collection of sensations; what you can see, hear, feel, smell – even taste – as “Meadow”. If I tell you at any point to “go to Meadow” then I want you to imagine yourself back there. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes… is that likely to be needed?”

“It’s useful to know we can use it,” he answers, slightly evasively. I look at him suspiciously.

“Currently, on a scale of zero to ten, where zero is not distressed at all and ten is too distressed to cope with, how would you assess your current state?”

“… Two…”

“You’re worried?”

“Yes, wouldn’t you be?”

“I’ve told you before, JD, you don’t need to justify how you’re feeling. I said it in our first session; I know you feel you have to act and _be_ a certain way, but there’s no “right” way to react to what happened to you. You’re feeling how you need to feel, you went through something terrible. I won’t tell you how to feel about it or judge you by how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking about. There’s no need to consider that when you’re in here.”

I nod.

“You also don’t need to look away when you’re upset.”

“I don’t like eye contact when we’re talking about this.”

I don’t mention that what I hate is knowing that how I feel is so clear. That the fear and pain and helplessness is so visible. And I don’t want to admit that talking about this makes me feel like I’m right back there, that I’m dragged down into hell. And that I’m scared that looking into his eyes will drag him down there with me. That it will somehow _contaminate_ him, that by exposing him to this monstrosity inside me that he will somehow be tainted by it, that I’ll have harmed him in some strange, indefinable way. Polluted.

“We won’t be making eye contact. I’ve set the chairs up at an angle so you can see around me to the door and I’m slightly too far away for you to be concerned I may touch you. I want to reassure you that _I will not touch you_. Do you want to make any changes to the set up?”

I look around the room, trying to choke down the sudden fear that we’re about to start. _I’m not ready, I don’t want to do this, why are you making me do this?_

I clasp my hands in front of me, trying to stop the nervous tremors running through them. “It looks good.”

“I would plan to do EMDR for all aspects of your time when you were held against your will, but the most traumatic was clearly the rape. You are obviously very uncomfortable talking about it, so I think we should discuss it first rather than you having to worry about it through other sessions. Do you agree?”

“Yeah, that make sense.” I feel sick. What if I get sick? Is there a trashcan here I can vomit into?

“JD.”

I look at him.

“I am not going to be asking you to do anything you can’t deal with. If it gets too much then you tell me. And we will stop. I think we’ve built enough trust in the last few months for you to know that I am telling the truth.”

I nod.

“I know it’s important for you to control your environment and yourself. Please entrust me with that control for this session, I promise I will stop and hand back control as soon as you ask for it.”

_Am I really that transparent? I didn’t realize that it was that obvious._

“Okay.” God, I sound small and weird.

“I will need you to be descriptive. I will ask you to focus on certain elements as you focus on the movement in front of you and then describe them to me after. Then I will ask you to focus on a certain part of what you have told me and continue this process. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I will initially need you to describe the events leading up to the rape. Can you do that for me?”

I clear my throat. “So… I remember before it happened I knew it would. It was on his medical charts, you see? And he’d explained that he was recreating what happened to him and I later linked it together.”

“How?”

“How? Er, I had a sort of hallucination where I linked it, I guess it was a subconscious thing. After I realized I didn’t sleep and just stared at the stairs, knowing he’d be coming down and what he was going to do.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was kind of thinking about what it would be like, or trying to guess. I was also trying not to think about it all and distracting myself with… stupid thoughts.”

“What stupid thoughts?”

“Oh… something about vaccinations? Why nobody had found me and trying to remember what police procedure might be in place. And I think something about a horror movie I’d seen.”

“How was your physical health?”

“Bad… I had been trying to wrench my hands free in panic when I realized what he was going to do and I’d pretty badly damaged them. Although they were damaged much worse-“

“Focus on the period beforehand, JD.”

“Sorry. I was shaking and coughing, my throat really hurt. I think the pneumonia had kicked in by then. I remember I was shaking so bad that it was making the handcuffs constantly clatter against the radiator. I was retching a bit too, but there was nothing left to throw up by then…

I remember that I was sort of sickly anticipating it; I was dreading it and so scared, but I remember thinking I just wanted him to come and do it to get it over with. I also remember that I knew that I was empathising with him too much and that I realized it was Stockholm Syndrome. And that I sort of understood why he was doing it, even if I didn’t want to. And that it made me feel guilty.”

“Why did you feel guilty?”

I roll my eyes. “Like I said, Stockholm Syndrome.”

“I’m not asking for your diagnosis of yourself, why does the JD who is in the basement feel guilty?”

I close my eyes. “Because doing it was hurting him as well as me. I felt guilty for that.”

“What happened then?”

“He came down the stairs. I was looking at my arm at the time, I had looked away.”

“At what he had “written” on you?”

“Yeah, I was looking at the _worthless_. I heard him on the stair and I freaked out. Like, I had known he was going to come and do it and had been quite calm, but freaked when he actually appeared. I knew he must be coming to do it because it was too early.”

“Too early?”

“Yeah, he used to see me in the evenings. I was pretty sure it was morning.”

“What happened then?”

“I looked up at him and _knew_. He looked sick, tired, like he had no choice either. I remember thinking he had probably had no sleep either, had been worrying. We stared at each other and I kept trying to prolong it, he wouldn’t move while I stared at him. I knew it was useless, trying to delay him, but I still did. It can’t have lasted very long and then I had a coughing fit so I lost eye contact and he moved while I was hacking up a load of crap from my lungs.”

“Where did he move to?”

“Next to me… I could see his feet out of the corner of my eye, which is when I noticed he was wearing Converse. Thanks for not wearing them today.”

“You’re welcome. It felt more professional than talking to you wearing Road Runner socks.”

“Road Runner is awesome.”

“Yes, JD please focus on what you were telling me.”

“Sorry. I knew he wasn’t going to talk to me, he used to squat down to talk to me so he could make eye contact. He just stood there so I knew there wasn’t going to be any discussion. Then… then he grabbed my leg…”

“Alright. Now I want you to think about that whilst I move my finger in your field of vision.”

He does so as I think about what happened. Weirdly, the oscillating finger no longer seems ridiculous and I focus on it like it’s a lifeline. Think about his hand gripping my leg, think about the terror, about how I had a rush of strength to struggle against him, knowing he was going to hurt me, knowing what he wanted to do.

The finger has stopped moving. “Tell me what you were thinking.”

“Remembering the feeling of his hand on my leg, how scared it was, the panic. How it gave me the strength to start struggling.” My voice sounds thick, choked.

“What did you do?”

“I… I kicked him with the other leg. It knocked him off his feet, but he carried on holding my leg so I tried to kick his hand off me, but couldn’t. His grip was so strong and I somehow managed to kick myself more than him. So I tried to kick him in the face instead, but he deflected it. I tried to use my hands after that, but obviously I couldn’t because he’d handcuffed me and just trying to move them hurt.”

“Think of your hands being restrained while you were trying to keep him away.”

_I don’t want to, why are-_

I focus again on the movement, feeling my throat close over, feeling a horrible sense of being dragged back again, feeling the scene behind my eyelids every time I blink. I can’t breathe, I can’t…

“What were you thinking?”

“That… that… that-“ I swallow and try again. “They _hurt_ , my wrists really hurt and I was trapped and scared. I couldn’t see properly, couldn’t focus on what he was doing because he’d limited my field of vision but because… my brain felt… full of fog? I was scared and it should have focused it more, but I just kept panicking.”

“On a scale of zero to ten, how distressed are you feeling? With zero being not affected at all-“

“Seven.”

I’m trembling, have moved my hands from their clasped position to gripping opposite forearms. The tremor in my left hand is pronounced and likely now pretty visible to Craig.

“Are you alright to continue?”

_No._

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“He saw that moving my wrists hurt me. He… pulled me upright, then sort of unbalanced me, so I fell forwards. I thought he was trying to drop me face first onto the floor to knock me out or something, but then realized half-way through the fall that because my wrists were secured I wouldn’t hit the floor. But then what that meant was that all my body weight and the momentum of the fall would put way too much pressure on my wrists…”

“You knew it would break your wrists?”

“I realized. I hit the radiator hard and my wrists broke…”

“Think about that.”

Focus on the movement. The pain, the agonizing pain, drowning in it, blinded by it…

My voice is shaking after he stops. “It hurt so much, I couldn’t focus on anything. I don’t even think I screamed, I couldn’t make a noise, couldn’t even _see_ , everything just seemed white for a second. I think I passed out, but not long. I was annoyed, I wanted to be unconscious. The… the noise…”

“What noise?”

“Of my wrists breaking. They… they _cracked_ , I remember how much the noise horrified me, hearing myself… break like that.”

“Then what happened?”

“He forced my knees apart. I tried to kick him again, but couldn’t manage it, every time I moved it put pressure on my wrists, so struggling against him really hurt. I tried to bring my legs together, but he had got one of my legs up over his shoulder… he was unbuckling his belt…” My voice has gone weird and detached.

“I thought maybe if I tried to speak to him, if I asked him not to, that maybe he would stop. So I tried.”

“What did you say?”

_Please, Steve, please don’t do this._

“Something about please don’t. He didn’t reply, just looked at me and I remember he looked sort of… disgusted and excited at the same time. I couldn’t really move any more, but I still tried arching my back, pulling myself away from him as much as I could, but it didn’t help. So I just closed my eyes, I didn’t want to watch and it felt like the only thing I could do.”

“Think about that.”

His finger is moving again, but it’s hard to focus, everything is blurred. I can feel the trembling in my body, can’t contain it even with my hands clamped around my arms and my knees locked together.

“Thinking about… struggling, about trying to get away and being hemmed in by the pain. The… way my muscles kept tensing, like I was trying to repel everything… moving away from something I couldn’t even see, but knew was there. Like… like when two magnets are pushed against each other, the way there’s a force between them keeping them apart and he was trying to push thr-thr-“

“On a scale of zero to ten, how distressed are you feeling?”

_One hundred._

“Nine.”

“Are you able to continue?”

_No._

“Yes.”

“You had your eyes closed, think about what you could feel.”

His finger is moving and I’m trying, but my eyes have blurred over too much, I can feel the heat in my eyes which eventually spills over as tears, running silently down my face as I watch the movement. Thinking about the feeling of him finally – horribly – pressing himself into me. The dry, oddly scratching sensation, burning pain, even in a body that was already overheated from fever. The way my muscles had been desperately tensing, trying to stop the painful inevitable press and failing, how useless my body eventually was when confronted with someone so much stronger, couldn’t even properly slow him down. A different sort of pain, something I’d never experienced before, something insidious, invasive, deeply personal. Pain from the inside, something you can’t grasp to try to lessen the sting, nothing to do but grit your teeth and try not to scream. Something about my leg being so elevated making me feel so open, so vulnerable, so unable to do anything to stop what was going on.

It seemed to go on forever, but he was eventually fully inside me, which I knew by the feeling – that I immediately rejected because of how mind-numbingly horrible it was – of his balls pressed against my ass. It was too much, too full, too dry and sharply painful, no defense, nothing, could feel myself twitching around him. Then he moved and that was _worse_.

And… and the noise. The noise, the wet, squelching, terrible noise that filled the air and my broken whimpering.

My eyes have stopped moving, even though his finger hasn’t. Everything is fuzzy, so I’m assuming my pupils are dilated. I can feel my heartbeat, racing and every blink shows me I’m still there, still in that basement, that I never really left. Surely this was longer than a minute? Tears continue to drip down my face and eventually his finger stops, either because the time is up or he’s noticed I’m not following any more.

“JD?”

I blink, lift a shaking hand and claw it through my hair, leaving it tangled there, the other hand wrapping around my stomach, trying to hold myself into myself. Does he want me to describe that? How do I even describe that?

“The… the… his… him pushing _into_ … God, the _noise_ …”

“JD?” His voice is suddenly sharp, not his usual gentle, unthreatening tone. “On a scale of-“

“Ten.”

“Go to Meadow.”

I slam my eyes closed and desperately summon the feeling, allowing the sunset to wash over me, the breeze. I inhale deeply trying to suck the smell of wildflowers and beer into me, like it will somehow expunge everything else. I choke slightly, take a huge, shuddering breath, and continue. I realize, from a long way away, that Craig is trying to help me, telling me what to think about. I mindlessly listen and follow his instructions.

“Focus on the air, listen to the noise it makes as the wind blows through the grasses. Listen to the sound of them moving, maybe hearing any birds in the sky. Look at the colors of the sunset, feel the warmth of the sun on your skin and the breeze…”

My hand is still tangled into my hair and I’m still hugging myself with the other arm, but I can feel my heartbeat eventually slowing, can feel all my muscles relaxing when I hadn’t realized how seized up I had been before. I take another deep breath, still feeling it quivering slightly and Craig switches to telling me to breathe in and out, seeming to take forever to tell me to breathe out.

Eventually I’m able to let go of my hair and open my eyes. Craig is sat in front of me, holding a box of tissues. I take one and attempt to deal with the tears. I blow my nose and then grab another and sit with it obscuring most of my face.

I sob, then bite my lip.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“People shouldn’t… people shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“Like what? You’re upset.”

“But it’s… weak. And gross, somehow. I mean, who would want to deal with me like _this_? Who would like me when I’m like this?”

“I do.”

The rather simple comment takes me back. I stare at him. Part of my brain is telling me not be naïve, that he’s clearly lying (a counsellor can hardly agree that their patient is a weak piece of shit, after all), but for once the defensive, angry, suspicious part of me seems to have been beaten into submission. Clearly the rape even horrifies that part of me.

“Why?”

“Because you’re being you, not pretending to be anything else.”

I make another odd, sobbing noise and then look away. I examine my left hand, watching the shaking slowly diminish. Close my eyes for a second and focus on Meadow again before making a huge effort to look back at him.

“Do we have to carry on-“

“No, if you get to ten at any point we stop and just go through coping mechanisms. Also, you’ve been here over an hour, so we’d be wrapping up soon anyway.” _Really? An hour?_ “You did really well, JD. I know it’s hard. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted.”

Surprisingly, I do. Maybe it’s all the shaking, but I expect I’m “emotionally exhausted”, which seems a slightly ridiculous concept.

“You may experience more flashbacks than usual in response. If you do so, picture Meadow again and focus on that. Try to do something tonight that captures your attention, reading, watching a movie, anything that can distract you. You’ll be more prone to invasive thoughts. Now, please visualize locking all of these thoughts into a box in your mind.”

I obediently lock them up. I then add a chain and lock it into another box before dumping it into the sea. When I open my eyes again, Craig is offering me a candy bar.

“What?”

I’m sounding slightly more normal now, I notice with relief.

“Eating or drinking something sweet helps.”

I take one and unwrap it.

“You make it sound like I’ve just been dealing with a dementor.” I respond, without thinking how immature this is. Craig suddenly cracks a grin, rather different from his usual “therapist smile”.

“Yes, well, just think of me as your personal Professor Lupin.”

I choke slightly on the candy bar.

\- - - - -

After booking another appointment for the following Monday (I already checked my shifts and after today I’m taking this seriously; the idea of trying to go back to Sacred Heart feeling like _this_ is not worth considering) I walk out to the car lot and slump against the building. It’s empty and I can just stop and close my eyes and feel the breeze on my face, cooling it. I still feel flushed and my eyes are itching. I realize I have no idea how many calories were in that candy bar and I’m going to have to research it now, although weirdly it didn’t bother me at the time. I presume I’m Craig’s last appointment of the day, it’s quiet. I open my eyes narrowly to inspect the number of cars. There’s two and my Aprilia. Hah, someone else has the same over-compensating model of Porsche that Doctor Cox has. I hope it’s not Craig…

_Hang on._

I stiffen slightly, coming back to full alertness.

_Hang on a_ fucking _minute._

I stalk over, feeling the rage, the weird, uncharacteristic rage I’ve been gifted after this whole thing, starting to overwhelm me. This has to be a coincidence, right? It’s not… he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t be _so_ invasive of my privacy that he would do this, right?

_Of course he would_.

He’s obviously noticed me coming over in the wing mirrors and gets out. He’s got a slight smile on his face, which dies rapidly when he sees my expression.

“JD, I-“

_“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”_

Even the use of “JD” can’t do anything when I feel like this.

He hold his hands up, faux surrender style. I want to punch him in the face and can feel my jaw has locked, my face gone slightly rictus in my fury.

“If I told you I was here because that Krispy Kreme over there is supposed to be the best in the state, would you believe me?”

I want to come up with some smart retort, something withering and sarcastic. Unfortunately all I can think of is “I wouldn’t believe you if it was the last Krispy Kreme on earth”, which makes no sense at all.

“No, I don’t believe you. What _is wrong_ with you, why are you here?”

I’m being very loud, although fortunately I seem not to have reverted to my tendency to go slightly shrill. He’s trying to be placating, his voice lower and more soothing than usual, which is having absolutely no impact on me.

“Look, JD, I was worried about you and-“

“You were _worried_ so you decided to follow me to something that has _nothing_ to do with you.”

I’ve stalked much closer, invading his personal space, getting right up in his face. I’m still snarling – shouting really – loudly. I’m trembling again, although this is definitely linked to rage now. I’m not overreacting per se, but some remote part of my mind is trying to point out that I really need to calm down, that I can’t let myself lose control, that it’s happened before and really not ended well. Doctor Cox obviously notices this too.

“JD, do _not_ try to punch me, you’ll hurt yourself.”

I make a weird, high-pitched scoffing noise.

“Oh, fuck off, like you care.” I step further into his space, forcing him to step back. “You _followed_ me.”

“Yes, I followed you, I was worried.”

_“Oh, you were worried, oh, the woes of Perry._ ”

I think it’s because he’s essentially come across me when I’m emotionally vulnerable, but I realize that I have now totally lost control. I’ve gone shrill and the aggression – oh, shit, I can’t control the aggression. There’s so much adrenaline running through me I don’t seem to have any way of shutting this down, I feel like a car careering down a hill with the brake wires cut. Doctor Cox rather belatedly notices this and – probably with the best intentions in mind – tries to restrain me by holding onto my forearms.

A faraway bit of my mind notices that he’s careful to not grab me by the wrists – the obvious place to hold me – but sadly this part of my mind is completely drowned out. I can normally cope with people touching me now, even if I’m surprised, but clearly not when I’m in this state. Something seems to snap inside me and then I’m suddenly struggling against him, making a weird half screaming noise and then try to head-butt him. Which he clearly sees coming and jerks his head out the way so that I basically smash my face against his chest, stunning myself slightly.

I’m still flailing around and snarling when I hear footsteps hurrying over and Craig appears. His eyes dart between the two of us; Doctor Cox looks slightly embarrassed whilst I don’t seem to be able to stop flailing around. I kick Doctor Cox’s shin.

“What… what is going on? Let go of him.”

“I would, but then I’m pretty certain he’ll try to punch me and re-break his wrist. Again.”

I draw my head back. He looks at me and sharply says “Do nahwt think about trying to head-butt me again, Veronica, I don’t want to have to deal with you with a concussion.”

“JD, focus on me. Calm down.”

“Fuck off.”

Oh God, I just swore at Craig. Shit.

He doesn’t actually seem particularly upset by this, just looks thoughtful. “Go to Meadow.”

My eyes snap shut and I promptly do as I’m told, feeling myself relax, the adrenaline rush starting to subside. I tune them out and focus on recreating the meadow in my mind, although can’t fully tune everything out; I notice when my forearms are released and that there’s a conversation between Doctor Cox and Craig, although I can’t really understand what they’re saying, other than Doctor Cox sounding defensive and Craig sounding low and angry.

“JD?”

I open my eyes and look at Craig blurrily. I’m swaying slightly. Doctor Cox is nowhere to be seen – the Porsche is gone – and if I felt tired before then now I just want to go to sleep on the tarmac of the car lot.

I remember what I just said and my eyes widen.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t worry JD, if I took it to heart every time a patient told me to fuck off I’d be clinically depressed by now.”

He looks at me critically. “I’m really not sure you should drive your motorcycle like this. It feels more professional to call you a cab, but… do you want me to give you a lift back?”

I nod mutely, feeling about ten years old. He leads me over to the rather battered red saloon car remaining in the parking lot and I scramble inside to the passenger seat, trying to curl up in a ball. I’m glaring at my feet when he gets in the driver side.

“Sorry.”

He glances at me again. “Sorry for what?”

“For how I acted. I… get like that sometimes, I don’t seem to be able to stop it once it’s… triggered…”

“Yes, you told me about a couple of incidents before, so I’m not exactly surprised. It’s a relatively common PTSD side effect.”

I look at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, particularly after sexual abuse. It’s an adrenaline response, I believe. Feeling threatened, particularly in a vulnerable state, results in a rather extreme aggressive reaction. Your response is considerably more reasonable than the stimulus that caused it.”

My brain catches up. “You’re annoyed with Doctor Cox?”

“That was colossally stupid. Even though he was likely unaware of your mental state. I don’t appreciate people coming onto the premises and upsetting my patients. This is supposed to be a safe place.” He sighs.

“He’s not dangerous.” I say quietly, despite the annoyance at him not really having subsided much.

“I know, I don’t mean like that. I believe he cares for you and is extremely over-protective, but it doesn’t condone his behavior.”

He turns the engine on. Elton John comes on over the stereo and he looks mildly embarrassed, although doesn’t turn it off. I tell him my address and he confirms he knows the area. We drive in relative silence, although I start humming along to “Benny and the Jets” at one point, which seems to amuse him.

When we nearly reach the house he asks how I’m feeling. “And for once, not in a therapist way,” he adds wryly.

“Better than earlier, although not great.”

“Have something hot to eat and drink; some hot chocolate or something. Maybe some soup, there’s a good place nearby here that I think do house calls. Incidentally, the Milky Way had 456 calories.”

I start from my cell; I’m pretty certain he hasn’t seen me Googling it. “Thanks,” I respond sheepishly. “I know it’s… weird.”

“Not really, it’s how you deal with things. It’s a better coping mechanism than some.”

I notice I have two missed calls and one text message.

_I’m sorry I freaked you out, I know that was not right. I really was worried though._

I narrow my eyes and text back:

_Fuck off._

Then for good measure I send a second.

_You fucker._

Craig drops me off and for once I feel no pressure to invite him in; he’s well aware I need to go and lock the doors in there. He suggests I get a cab tomorrow to pick up the Aprilia and collect the leathers and helmet from his reception area. I thank him and go inside. On a whim I look at the soup place he suggested – oh, it shows ingredients _and_ calories, I love it – and order a cream of chicken and mushroom soup. As I wait my phone chimes twice. I wander over and inspect it.

One message is from Craig:

_Hope you ordered soup – meant to say, would suggest you avoid alcohol and caffeine tonight._

The other is from Doctor Cox:

_Nice girls don’t swear, Jenny. It’s crude, even if they are being followed around in parking lots by devastatingly handsome doctors who are only concerned about their wellbeing._

I snort and then answer the door (soup on wheels!) before locking up and then texting Craig back:

_I have ordered soup (312 calories inc. croutons!). Thanks for the lift, will not drink anything stimulating. Sorry again that my weird and uncontrollable colleague is causing problems._

I eat the soup, respond to Craig’s response and sit in a blanket on the beanbag and watch “The Truman Show” for no real reason other than it being on TV and quite liking it. I keep glancing at my cell and eventually respond to Doctor Cox:

_Was there a devastatingly handsome doctor? I didn’t notice, I was distracted by the crazy-eyed stalker who keeps invading my privacy. Incidentally, my therapist described you as “colossally stupid” and he is qualified to make these assessments._

_By the way, do you change my name in your contacts to a new girl’s name each day? That’s a bit weird if you do._

Jim Carrey’s rather attractive wife has just started trying to run an advertisement when my cell chimes again. I glance at it.

_You’re just “Newbie” in my cell; I tried doing the girl’s name thing and it was too much effort. Also, I messaged some abuse aimed at you to a totally innocent Sophie once. It was embarrassing._

_My therapist describes me as a “massive narcissist”. Your therapist is clearly kinder, although presumably doesn’t know me as well, despite you likely prattling on to him about how awesome I am in your sessions._

_Google search for “girl who is a total rage monster” has failed me. I think “Carrie” possibly suffices, please never get your period or we are all doomed._

I smirk and respond.

_Fuck off, you fucker._


	5. 05. My Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cox POV Cox POV, I like writing Cox POV...
> 
> Merry Christmas! Have an extra chapter :)

_"Worthless, is he?"_

_Was that my voice? I sound like I'm a scotch away from a mental breakdown._

_No one else in this room exists to me. Not Sutcliffe calmly repeating "Put down the needle, put it down, this isn't helping anyone" or Carla hanging off my arm trying to get me to put it down, or the police guards who look like they're wondering whether to draw their guns._

_Gourley's just looking straight back at me. He doesn't even look guilty. It maddens me even more. I feel guilty enough to have done it, but he looks as if he's a goddamned priest or something. Serene and at peace._

_"You're the worthless one," I snarl. "You're just an abusing, raping sick fucker and this," I indicate the needle "is far too good for you."_

_He nods. That's what surprises me, and lets rationality take a hold again. It's not Carla letting go of my arm in shock when I said "raping", it's that nod. The needle tumbles from my immobile fingers and shatters on the floor. The noise is incredibly loud. I tear my gaze away from Gourley to watch the shards of glass spinning in all directions, refracting the light._

I shake my head slightly and glance into the wing mirrors again. The building I saw Newbie going into earlier still appears to have him inside. After following his motorcycle at a distance I saw him going inside before pulling up in the parking lot. I then checked where the hell I was on Google Maps and ascertained that the office block contained a realtor, an art dealer and a therapist. Considering Newbie had just bought a house and appears to have no discernible taste (unless he’s buying art for his strangely empty house), the most likely place he would be is with the therapist. He’s not generally spoken about this one; I know he had other ones before he tended to bitch about, but hasn’t said much about his current one. I now realize this is likely because he’s actually found one who works for him, but I can’t rid myself of the annoying protective urge to check he gets out okay.

I track down the therapist online and confirm he is Craig Gillespie, PhD (although weirdly referring to himself as Mr Gillespie), qualified counsellor, specializing in treatment of severe stress and trauma. I’m boredly trying to find reviews of him online when I see Newbie stagger out of the building and promptly collapse against the wall.

I sit up and try to get a better view of him. Is that an “ugh, therapy” gesture or something else? The mirrors aren’t really helping and I turn around in the seat, trying to see him more clearly. His eyes are closed and he looks… well, godawful. He looks vulnerable and lost and in pain. He also looks slightly red-eyed and upset and it suddenly occurs to me that his therapy is probably pretty different from mine, where I essentially rant for an hour. His is likely more… harrowing.

Ah. He’s looked over in this direction and… oh, yeah, he’s recognized the car. Uh. Shit.

Seeing him stalk over like a pissy little ingrate, I decide to disarm him by getting out the car and pulling on my best suave grin, which falls off pretty rapidly when I see his expression. He’s still looking flushed and red-eyed as he did earlier, but there’s an odd set to his jaw and his eyes are slightly wild. I’ve seen him looking like this before and it generally seems to have resulted in him attempting to attack me (or actually, anyone who he feels threatened by, he seems to be a rather equal rights psychotic in that regard).

“JD, I-“

My wonderful, placating speech is interrupted.

_“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”_

Ah. Shit. Yeah, he’s really mad. I’m now well aware I’ve done something really stupid; I honestly didn’t mean to, I didn’t think he’d even notice me.

I lift my hands, realizing he’s feeling threatened and trying to make myself seem as unthreatening as it’s possible for a badass like me to look. This does not have the desired effect, his jaw tightening even further and an odd tension running over his face and body.

I try to use humor as a last defense.

“If I told you I was here because that Krispy Kreme over there is supposed to be the best in the state, would you believe me?”

He doesn’t even crack a smile. Damnit. He looks slightly lost for a second, then retorts angrily.

“No, I don’t believe you. What _is wrong_ with you, why are you here?”

I try sounding as soothing as possible.

“Look, JD, I was worried about you and-“

Oh, shit, no, that’s not working, he looks like Mount Vesuvius about to erupt. How can someone who’s normally so placid get so angry? He clearly can’t really deal with it, it’s not in his nature to be so angry and he doesn’t seem to be able to contain it like a constantly pissed bastard like me. 

“You were _worried_ so you decided to follow me to something that has _nothing_ to do with you.”

He’s now up in my face and I know that something’s gone wrong. I’m assuming it’s not just me that’s caused it, but obviously I was enough to trigger an almighty aggression rush in him. He’s right up against me, something he normally would not do, something he would usually actively avoid, actually. He has generally kept a distance between himself and everyone since Gourley, only moving closer to anyone when he’s fully relaxed. Intentionally getting all up in my shit is not something he does in his right mind.

Also, he’s trembling and there’s something wrong with his eyes. He looks animalistic and I realize that he’s lost control.

And there I was wishing he wasn’t always so controlled. Well, I got my wish, I guess. Shit.

“JD, do _not_ try to punch me, you’ll hurt yourself.”

That was more patronizing than I meant it to be. I had been thinking about his fucked up wrists, not that he is so puny that any attempt to hurt me will result in his swooning. He makes an odd shrill noise in response.

“Oh, fuck off, like you care.”

_Ouch._

He steps closer and I have to step backwards to avoid him walking straight into me and freaking out.

“You _followed_ me.”

It seems pointless to deny it, although I could bullshit about needing some art.

“Yes, I followed you, I was worried.”

_“Oh, you were worried, oh, the woes of Perry._ ”

Yeah, he’s properly freaked out. He’s gone all shrill. Also, he called me Perry, _what’s with that?!_ I realize that he now will inevitably try and do something stupid and so I hold onto his forearms as a last ditch attempt to stop harm coming to him (to be honest, him hitting me doesn’t worry me in terms of my own welfare, despite him being able to hit surprisingly hard, it’s just it will inevitably fuck his wrists up further).

Apparently this sets off a small nuclear explosion in his brain and he’s suddenly a furious, snarling, flailing load of limbs. He wails at me and then tries to head-butt me, so I move out of the way and end up with his head bouncing off my pecs. Which likely did hurt him, since I have been spending more time in the gym and so it’s pretty goddamn hard there if I say so myself.

I can hear someone coming over and try to hold him slightly further away, so we look less like we’re engaging in some weird, violent hug. Sadly, this seems to make JD realize that he has feet and the little bastard pretty savagely kicks me in the shin.

A short, graying man around my age has appeared, who appears to be wearing some odd hipster clothes combination of smart and casual that I find unnecessarily confusing. He seems to recognize JD and I can pretty safely assume that he is Gillespie from his relative lack of surprise and then his instruction:

“What… what is going on? Let go of him.”

Anyone not aware of the situation would likely ask “Why is this man trying to claw your face off?” rather than tell me to drop him. If I do drop him it would, after all, enable him to claw my face off.

“I would, but then I’m pretty certain he’ll try to punch me and re-break his wrist. Again.”

Gillespie’s appearance seemed to have focused JD slightly, but my response centers his attention back on me. He looks like he’s planning on head-butting me again and I tell him off.

Gillespie looks annoyed at my telling him off (was it the Veronica thing? I can’t help that, it just happens).

“JD, focus on me. Calm down.”

“Fuck off.”

Oh God, I feel so proud.

“Go to Meadow.”

For a second I think I’ve misheard Gillespie say “Go to hell”, but JD’s response is instantaneous. His eyes shut and he seems to… power down. Or go into power saving mode or something, it’s slightly creepy. The tension is slowly draining out of him whilst Gillespie watches him avidly for a minute, then glances over at me.

“Let him go.”

I release his arms. He doesn’t respond, apart from dropping them down to his sides and continuing to stand there, weirdly placid, with his eyes closed.

“Get away from him.”

He sounds low and furious. I frown at him and back off a few steps, continuing to watch JD’s face. Should he be doing that? It’s really odd.

“What is that?” I ask. “Can I do that to him? It could come in handy.”

“It’s not a magic trick,” Gillespie spits. He clearly then tries to calm himself down. “Who are you and why are you manhandling someone in the car lot?”

“I’m his physician.”

Well, that’s sort of true.

“Oh…” Gillespie suddenly looks rather tired. “You’re Doctor Cox.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” I retort, then frown.

“He’s mentioned you. Also mentioned you being over-bearing, so I should have figured that out earlier.”

I’m pretty sure this tiny man has just sassed me. I don’t really know what to do about it, so settle for glowering at him.

“You should leave.” He states, rather pointedly. “You’ve upset him enough.”

I resist the urge to snap back that at least I haven’t done some creepy Jedi mind trick on him, but just nod and walk back to the Porsche, glancing back at JD before driving off. Gillespie is continuing to attentively watch him, presumably to check he’s not distressed. Part of me – the terse, mistrustful side – wants to check JD is okay, but despite how much of a suspicious bastard I am, I don’t think Gillespie is any threat to him. He clearly doesn’t like _me_ much, but hell, who does?

I actually do drive to the Krispy Kreme (the donuts are godawful though, this is possibly the worst Krispy Kreme in the state, which I suppose makes it exceptional enough to visit in it’s own way). I try calling JD, but just get voicemail. I try again and sigh.

I really did fuck up. He was weird at work and preoccupied and I… God, I don’t know. It just reminded me of how shifty he had been before he decided it would be _such_ a good idea to go and visit Gourley’s home. The little moron.

Turns out he was just presumably preoccupied with therapy (that was kinda late for a session as well, is that weird?). And I surprised him or just pissed him off by being a constant, annoying presence and stalking him and clearly upset him when he was already pretty… unbalanced. I probably should have asked Gillespie if that was normal.

He probably would have told me to get lost though.

Hah, though Newbie told him to fuck off. That was hilarious.

I should apologize though. And if he won’t talk to me (fair), then I’ll text him.

_I’m sorry I freaked you out, I know that was not right. I really was worried though._

It took me a depressing amount of time to concoct that message and I’m still worried it could be viewed as passive-aggressive. And overly apologetic. However, considering it was originally “ _Sorry you went all weird and angry when I showed up, you really are a pissy little madam_ ” then it could only really be an improvement. I watch my cell for any sign of a response. After five minutes I grunt and go and get a coffee and another terrible donut.

Whilst paying I feel my cell vibrate in my pocket twice. I sit back down and am greeted with a series of expletives from JD. I grin; if he was still as angry as earlier I would expect a furious silence, so can assume Gillespie managed to defuse him.

I consider sending another contrite message, but I kind of want to mess with him. It’s fun.

_Nice girls don’t swear, Jenny. It’s crude, even if they are being followed around in parking lots by devastatingly handsome doctors who are only concerned about their wellbeing._

It’s sort of apologetic, if you squint. It’s met with a resolute silence from JD, so maybe he doesn’t agree with that. After nursing the sludge masquerading as coffee for as long as possible (still no reply) I get into the Porsche and pick up a pizza on my way home.

Still nothing.

Little bitch.

I’ve put the football on and am contemplating a scotch when my cell eventually buzzes again. I dart over to it with alarming alacrity.

_Was there a devastatingly handsome doctor? I didn’t notice, I was distracted by the crazy-eyed stalker who keeps invading my privacy. Incidentally, my therapist described you as “colossally stupid” and he is qualified to make these assessments._

_By the way, do you change my name in your contacts to a new girl’s name each day? That’s a bit weird if you do._

Oh, he is _asking_ for it, right? I mean… calling _me_ crazy-eyed when he was practically frothing at the mouth. I’m hurt. He’s the one who has literally been sectioned. I spend some time composing my reply and feel it is appropriately devastating, although avoid pointing out that he actually is slightly mentally unstable as this feels like a low blow.

_You’re just “Newbie” in my cell; I tried doing the girl’s name thing and it was too much effort. Also, I messaged some abuse aimed at you to a totally innocent Sophie once. It was embarrassing._

_My therapist describes me as a “massive narcissist”. Your therapist is clearly kinder, although presumably doesn’t know me as well, despite you likely prattling on to him about how awesome I am in your sessions._

_Google search for “girl who is a total rage monster” has failed me. I think “Carrie” possibly suffices, please never get your period or we are all doomed._

This prompts an immediate, profanity-riddled response that actually makes me laugh aloud. I’m very tempted to message him back to claim that “The Girl Who is a Total Rage Monster” is a newly discovered Stieg Larsson book, but decide to stop tormenting him for the evening.

I realize that I can use “Lisbeth” tomorrow, which will probably confuse him but amuse me.

I fall asleep on the couch with a grin on my face and having consumed 0 alcohol units (although roughly 5,000 calories in foul donuts and then pizza).

\- - - - -

“Oh my God, what are _you_ doing here?”

I grin disarmingly at Gillespie, which utterly fails.

“This is totally inappropriate. It’s actually really fortunate you didn’t run into JD, I don’t have time to clear up after you.”

“Run into him? He can’t have been back already,” I frown.

“He had to collect his motorcycle, obviously,” Gillespie makes a bored expression at me. “He’s gone now though and fortunately he seems to have recovered pretty well from you mauling him outside last night.”

Despite his annoyed tone (and words and expression), he doesn’t actually seem overly bothered about trying to get me to leave. There are no patients waiting and his receptionist has been banished out of the room as soon as Gillespie caught sight of me.

“I wanted to ask… well, whether that was normal?”

“For God’s sake, man, you’re a doctor. I don’t need to explain confidentiality to you, surely?”

He’s wearing an odd combination of tweed jacket, black T shirt and grey slacks today, paired with red sneakers. I wonder if I’m just out of date because my office wear is a white coat and scrubs or whether he just dresses eccentrically.

“I’m asking an expert in post-traumatic stress if it’s normal for someone to freak out massively and then shut down when someone uses bizarre Jedi mind tricks on them. It’s hypothetical.”

“Alright, _hypothetically_ , it’s difficult to say what’s normal for someone with PTSD – or more likely, C-PTSD – because people don’t have prescriptive responses to traumatic situations. However, extreme aggression is a common response to a trauma sufferer feeling threatened, particularly when they are feeling vulnerable. And, however much I would love to claim Jedi powers, it’s a therapeutic tool. And no, it probably won’t work if you try it and he’ll just try to head-butt you again.”

“Yeah, that’s sadly something of a theme with him. He once freaked out at work so I tried to sedate him. Did nahwt go well and he actually succeeded in head-butting me, so resulted in a genuinely impressive bloody nose for me and him with concussion, retching into a trash can. It filled the patients with confidence, obviously…”

Gillespie looks slightly horrified.

“Oh, did he not tell you about that?”

“Not with such… colorful detail. He also omitted that you tried to sedate him, do you really think that’s an appropriate way to deal with it?”

I shrug. “He’s hurt himself before.”

“Yes, I know, but-“ he stops himself. “This really is totally inappropriate, I’m not talking to you about one of my patients. If I think he’s a danger to himself or others then I will alert you, but otherwise I can’t and don’t want to.”

“I’m not necessarily here to talk to you about him. I’m looking for a new therapist myself-“

“If you didn’t notice, Doctor Cox, I’m a specialist in trauma. So please don’t bullshit me, I suggest you go to someone who has the resource to listen to your ego.”

“JD really talks about me that much?” I notice Gillespie stiffen slightly and smirk at the mental slam-dunk I just scored. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about trauma.”

Gillespie lifts an eyebrow. “Really? What traumatic experience would you like to discuss?”

I can’t decide if he really doesn’t like me or if it’s all a hangover from my upsetting JD. I suspect it’s the latter, he seemed genuinely pissed with me last night whilst today he seems to be humoring me slightly more.

“Well, one of my friends was abducted, generally believed dead, I was ignored by the police when I actually had identified who took him, was there when he was found and saw the state he was in, then took charge of his medical care, saw the absolute fucking mess he had been left in and tried my best to help him through it, even though I had no idea what to do. And my relationship with the mother of my child broke down and now I genuinely sometimes think JD wants to kill me and don’t understand what I can do to help. Oh, and I’m borderline alcoholic. But yeah, you’re right, what trauma have _I_ been through?”

Oh, if I got a slam-dunk before then I don’t know how to categorize this. Gillespie looks like I’ve slapped him.

He reanimates abruptly, sighs and then passes me a business card.

“I will consider taking you on as an occasional consult – and if you try to get details on any of my other patients I will eject you. I will also not schedule any appointments for you within 4 hours of any of JD’s, I don’t want you to “accidentally” run into him again.”

I take the business card triumphantly (really? Because I’ve convinced a professional that I’m psychologically in need of their help? Good Lord, what’s wrong with me?). “Thank you. And no weird Jedi mind tricks on me.”

Gillespie grins at me. “You’re welcome. And no, a functional mind is required for those to work.”

_Ouch._

\- - - - -

I spend the rest of my day off at the gym and doing boring, mundane tasks that I generally forget to do, like buying food and cleaning the apartment. I also end up spending far too much time trying to choose a wine to take to Carla and Gandhi’s dinner – and really, who am I trying to impress? I am determined not to get drunk tonight though, I had to go through a period where bowling-ball head kept giving me AA leaflets and I was genuinely worried he was going to try to stage an intervention, resulting in the necessity for me to murder him.

I also realize I have no idea who else is coming (God, please not Barbie, I don’t think I can cope). I text Carla asking her and get a slightly terse response that “Turk and I invited JD over and you invited yourself”. I don’t think that’s quite fair, but buy a couple expensive bottles of wine to try to appease her. I then also buy an expensive bottle of scotch, in the hope I’ll get the majority of it over time, although Gandhi strikes me as someone who drinks anything. No discernment, although likely doesn’t drink Shirley’s godawful Appletinis.

I present myself at seven at their apartment, looking around for Deborah’s motorcycle in the parking lot. Despite my determination regarding not getting drunk I took a cab, but considering Gandhi is practically begging Newbie to move back in I’m expecting him to just crash there. I’m slightly taken aback on going inside that he’s there already, considering his motorcycle was definitely not in the lot. Carla hugs me, air kisses and then takes the wine with a squeal of delight.

“Baby, look at this Sancerre!”

Gandhi glances over, looking utterly unimpressed with my pretentious bottle of wine.

“That’s great, baby.”

Carla rolls her eyes. “He’s such a philistine,” she confides to me. “I’ll pour some out, go and join the boys.”

I walk through to the sitting room, where Gandhi and Newbie appear to be engaged in a discussion around Newbie’s attire.

“Dude, you need to stop wearing black all the time. You look like a goth.”

“This isn’t black, it’s dark blue,” Newbie responds rather weakly, gesturing at his shirt. Unsurprisingly, it’s long sleeved although slightly more fitted than I’ve seen him wearing before, emphasizing his waist. I suppose if you’re a wiry little bastard then you should show it off.

“Well, it looks black, since Carla’s insisting on lighting the room with candles. Like we’re on a _date_. And you just always look like you’re wearing black, dude and with your hair and everything you’re starting to look a bit Sisters of Mercy.”

“Gandhi’s just jealous that you actually have hair, Carrie, I wouldn’t worry.”

He glances over at me. “Well, yeah, _you_ just wear black all the time too.”

“Anyway, what do you expect me to do?” Newbie intercedes. “I can hardly get biking leathers in vivid green. People would crash into me from staring.”

“Hot pink would kinda suit you.” I smirk.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Ah, are you over telling me to fuck off now?”

Gandhi looks slightly confused. “When were you telling him to fuck off?”

“Repeatedly, yesterday. Didn’t work though.”

He sips his effervescent green drink and gives me an odd look. Considering the last time I saw him he looked close to suffering an aneurism he seems much more collected now. Clearly got himself back under control, quite impressive really. Particularly since he was at work today.

I smirk at him as Carla comes back with glasses of the wine, knowing nobody will talk about fucking off when she’s around, as it would lower the tone. She perches next to Gandhi on the couch and smiles at us.

“What are you talking about?”

“JD’s hair,” Gandhi covers smoothly. Newbie glares at him.

“Oh, Bambi, please don’t cut it short again, you looked like one of those soccer hooligans.”

“I have no plans to. I have also been informed I looked like something from Chernobyl and that I have a weird shaped head, so I think the short hair was pretty universally panned.”

“It looks real nice _now_ though,” Carla counters, obviously feeling slightly guilty for joining in the criticism of JD’s hair/skull. “It suits you like that.”

Newbie looks slightly awkward at the compliment and glances between the Appletini and the wine he’s just been given, clearly unsure which to have.

“You probably shouldn’t mix them, that’ll taste odd.” I note.

“Can you still actually taste anything?” Gandhi counters, clearly still thinking about the AA leaflets he kept putting in my locker (I know it was him, it pissed me off to the extent I got the residents to watch for who was doing it).

“Turk!” Carla snaps. I grin.

“I view myself as a connoisseur and yeah, taste buds still seem functional.”

“JD, tell us about your new place,” Carla is clearly choosing to ignore Gandhi and me. Poor Newbie is not happy with the attention and manages to look even more awkward.

“Oh, it’s a few miles out. It’s nice though, I’ve got a garden. It’s not much, just a two bedroom place, but I think it’s quite cool. It’s pretty much finished now, I’ll organize something and you guys can come and see it.”

He keeps glancing at me nervously, worried I’m going to say something about it and give the game away. When I remain politely silent he relaxes slightly. “Oh, thanks for the beanbag though, it’s great. I fell asleep on it last night.”

Ah, interesting, he doesn’t sit on those impersonal black leather couches.

“Dude, how did you fall asleep on a beanbag? There’s no back support.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t the most comfortable when I woke up.”

“Well, you’re welcome Bambi. We thought you’d like it,” Carla adds. “And thank you for the flowers and bringing dessert, that was really sweet of you.”

Well, that explains the lack of the motorcycle in the lot. Unless he’s put a fetching straw basket on the front to carry miscellaneous cakes and flowers.

“Haha, really _sweet_ of me?”

Gandhi laughs uproariously as I roll my eyes and Carla looks mildly disgusted, at which point Newbie’s cell starts ringing. He glances at it, sighs and then answers.

“Hey Dan.”

“Hey Dan!” Gandhi yells. Newbie narrows his eyes and walks to the other side of the room. After a few minutes he comes back; I hear a muttered “I’ll call you later” before he hangs up.

“Was that really Dan – Dan the worst brother in the world – calling you?” I ask him. He shrugs.

“Yeah, after the whole… y’know going missing and being hospitalized for three weeks without him noticing thing I think he feels kinda guilty.”

I try not to visibly act surprised to his referring to Gourley in such an apparently casual way.

“Is he visiting any time soon?” Carla asks.

“God, I hope not…”

\- - - - -

Dinner is surprisingly pleasant. There’s a slightly odd conversation where Newbie tries to get the recipe for the enchiladas that Carla has made (what is with that?) and I find Gandhi as annoying as ever, although occasionally flirting with Carla in front of him makes up for it. Then have a reoccurrence of the odd uncomfortable feeling I had previously when I did that. Why is that?

Newbie tries to leave early and is foiled in his attempts to get away. I probably could have left earlier – no one was likely to try to stop me – but I’m being an ass and enjoying watching Gandhi trying to figure out how to get rid of me. Also, they’ve started on my bottle of scotch and I’ve given up on my whole “staying sober for the night” plan.

“This burns…”

“Very manly there, Shirley.”

He huffs at me and then gets up and makes his slightly unsteady way to the bathroom.

“Dude, do you really think that you should make those jokes?”

I shrug. “I think he’d probably find it weirder if I didn’t.”

“He seems a lot better.” Carla says thoughtfully. “A lot calmer than he’s been recently.”

I think about the episode in the car lot yesterday and make no comment.

“Yeah, he’s mentioned that his shrink’s been doing some new therapy with him. I guess it helps.”

Not if how he looked yesterday was anything to judge by. He looked like hell. Maybe I should have asked Gillespie what he was doing? Apart from his weird Jedi mind tricks.

It’s annoying how they seem to take everything with him at face value. It’s like how they were with him when he was out of hospital nearly a year ago and how their desperate optimism only saw what they wanted, they didn’t see how he really was, just how he was trying to appear. I don’t think it’s as simple as “getting better”, it seems infinitely more complex than that.

To be honest, I think his whole “being controlled” thing might be to protect us rather than anything else.

Anyway, it’s more frustrating than can be compensated with by annoying Gandhi, so I make my excuses and go out. Only, I kinda want to speak with Newbie – and I mean _actually_ speak, not just send him insulting text messages – and I have a very strong feeling that he will use my leaving as an excuse to get going himself.

So I go and sit in my old spot in the alleyway near the apartment and wait. It reminds me of a year ago, when I caught Newbie spaced out standing in the moonlight and secretly carrying a knife with him. And also, when he kicked the hell out of me when I grabbed him.

I don’t have the wait long, he appears around ten minutes after I’ve made my excuses. He’s wearing his jacket pulled up around his ears and seeing him I’m struck by how different he looks from when I last saw him from this position. Last time he looked broken, ethereal, somehow insubstantial. It freaked me out then, enough to stop me from properly thinking about how he might react to my grabbing him, grabbing him in an attempt to make him seem real and alive.

Now he looks solid and healthy and present in a way that is so different from before. I’ve also learnt from last time to make myself known rather than just grab him.

“Hey, Newbie.”

He glances over at me, looking unsurprised.

“Oh. Hey.”

“I guessed you’d skip out as soon as I gave you a good excuse by leaving. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “Yeah, I’m just tired I guess.”

“Look… I just wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

He looks surprised and runs a hand through his hair. “Um… thanks. I guess. You already apologized though, we’re cool.”

I frown. “Listen Ginger, is… is everything alright? You looked pretty upset yesterday before you turned into bridezilla.”

He sighs. “It’s just this therapy, y’know?”

“Is it helping?”

“I guess? I suppose it needs some time, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s hard.”

“What’re you doing?”

“EMDR.”

I frown; I’m not familiar with that one, so I cover with:

“It’s all horseshit anyway.”

“Great, thanks, that’s very encouraging.”

I smirk at him and walk over. “Wanna share a cab?”

“I don’t live anywhere near you.”

Well, _that’s_ weird. The normal JD – or the previous one, anyway – would have done anything to spend more time with me. He’d have jumped at a shared cab, not calmly point out something as logical as the fact he lives a good few miles in totally the wrong direction from my apartment.

The new – current – JD is looking at me suspiciously, clearly not tempted to try to spend any additional time with me. It’s… it’s annoying.

“Fine, wanna go wait by a taxi rank together?”

We walk together in an awkward stilted silence to the taxi rank. Newbie glances at me while we wait.

“You didn’t bring the Porsche?”

“I don’t drink and drive, Daphne.”

“Well, you don’t seem drunk. It’s unusual.”

I grin humorlessly at him. Apparently I do it long enough to creep him out, resulting in him slightly desperately flagging down a taxi.

“You want this one?”

“Nah, I’m good Newb, you take it.”

“Okay. Have… have a good night.”

Which is why I’ve spent the last thirty minutes researching EMDR rather than “girls who are rage monsters” on Google. It’s mildly depressing stuff, suggesting it can take time to have a positive impact. There’s also an awful lot about post-conflict experiences. This is presumably why we need specialists and don’t just diagnose mental problems using the Internet. PTSD seems to generally be connected with veterans rather than anything else.

I try and think of something supportive and positive that I can message him. I come up with nada.

I mean, I don’t need to send him a message. Just… I feel like I should?

I mean, it’s fun tormenting him. So it’s not just the weird subconscious urge to help, right?

_Gotten over “the burn” yet, Phyllis? By which I mean the scotch, not the result of your last date._

Okay, so if Gandhi saw that then he’d probably whine at me again about being insensitive.

I don’t have to wait long.

_Is it too soon to tell you to fuck off again?_

I laugh.

_It’s getting old, at least I vary my material, Tracy._

_Isn’t Tracy an androgynous name?_

_Thanks for a new avenue to explore, Charlie._

_Don’t say that to The Todd, he’ll high five you._

_Good warning there, Georgie. I’ll keep it in mind. Get some sleep, I may have spent some time looking up your therapy online; sounds difficult. Let me know if you need me to help with anything (and by help I mean covering your shifts, not TALKING, obviously) then tell me. Good night, Darcy._

It takes him a while to respond, I’ve changed into a pair of pajama pants and am reading a sports journal in bed.

_Good night._

If I received that from him a year ago (previous JD?) I’d think he was being cold. Now it results in my falling asleep with a slightly ridiculous smile on my face.


	6. 06. My Assignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware... terrible decisions on the horizon...
> 
> This is where we start to slide more into the mature/explicit stuff, so a warning if you’re not into that kind of thing.

_I'm not going to think about that burning pain, that vulnerability, that helplessness. That pain that was so foreign, so different, so intimate._

_I'm not going to think about the way he left without a word when he was done._

_I’m not going to think about the noises he made, the noises I made, the unpleasant sound of the act itself, I’m not going to think of the sticky damp mess between my thighs and over my stomach which I’m furiously telling myself is blood, just blood, nothing else, just blood._

_I’m not going to think of the twisted mindset it’s created, that it’s forever warped my sense of intimacy and understanding and who I am._

_I’m not going to think about how I want to clean myself from the inside out, burn it out, boil it out, how my skin crawls just thinking about it._

_Not going to think of the finality of this, the closing of a door onto something that was only ever half-formed in my mind and now can never be. Don’t think about that._

“But obviously I _was_ thinking about it…”

My most recent EMDR session is going in a slightly strange direction, Craig looking confused. After repeated sessions I can talk about the rape itself all the way through (plateauing at a seven for distress levels, yay), but our discussions about the aftermath seem to be increasingly rambling.

Craig glances down at his notes.

“Closing of a door onto something that was… half formed and now can never be? What are you referring to?”

“Huh?”

“Most of what you said I understood in context of relating to the rape itself, but I don’t understand the door reference. What were you thinking about?”

I look at him blankly.

He repeats where he appears to have written verbatim what I just said.

“Did I say that?”

“Yes…” he frowns. “EMDR can cause a mildly dissociative state where you can access memories that the brain has – for want of a better word – blocked. You have blocked the majority of the physical act itself, although can access those memories when you focus, which is a sensible coping mechanism.

What had you been considering before the abduction?”

I flinch, not entirely sure I want to go there.

“And I presume you’re referring to semen in “ _I’m not going to think of the sticky damp mess between my thighs and over my stomach which I’m furiously telling myself is blood, just blood, nothing else, just blood._ ”?”

Having my words parroted back at me feels somehow mocking and cruel, although I doubt he means it that way. I glare back at him.

“Well, _yes_ , but clearly I didn’t want to think about that.”

He looks back at me calmly. “Please don’t take offense at this, JD, but I feel like you’re not addressing something.”

“What, that I don’t like talking about having _come_ all over my-“

“Not that.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you obviously think there is something, what is it that you think I’m not addressing?”

“Your sexuality.”

“My… wait, what?”

“That’s the only real connotation I can understand from your comments about it closing a door on something that was half-formed and that you didn’t want to think about semen on your stomach, which I presume means that you ejaculated during the act?”

My brain seems to have stopped working, apart from an incredibly inappropriate urge to snigger at hearing Craig say “ejaculated”. I can feel myself blushing, the surprise seeming to have banished the anger I could feel building up.

“I… that… that doesn’t mean I _enjoyed_ it, it’s a natural reaction to-“

“Yes, I know that. I’m not the one who seems so bothered by it.”

“Well, wouldn’t you be?” I demand, exasperated. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter and it just fucked my head up more, feeling like people might think I… God, that I had a good time? It _hurt_ , it really fucking hurt, I don’t know how-“

“It’s an autonomic nervous response, it doesn’t mean anything other than that. A human male can be caused to involuntarily orgasm from mild electric shocks to the prostate, it certainly doesn’t mean he enjoys it.”

“Thanks, that’s a great mental image about cattle prods. So, you’re saying that because I had an autonomic nervous response to rape that I’m gay?”

“No, that’s not at all-“

“ _I’m not gay._ ”

“I’m not saying you are _at all_. Please stop misunderstanding me.”

I glower at him. “Then stop saying such crazy things.”

Craig looks thoughtful. “Can I suggest a theory I have?”

“Does it involve cattle prods?”

“No.”

“Then alright, but I maintain my right to outright reject it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. My theory is that both the fact that a man raped you – and that you had a physical response to this, which you were ashamed about –“ he cuts me off as I try to interrupt. “I’m not saying you _should_ have been ashamed, I’m saying that despite clear logical arguments counter to it, you felt the emotional response of being ashamed. But the combination of these factors made you think that you could never explore any bisexual urges that you had previously had, which incidentally some psychologists believe are common in those who generally identify as heterosexual. Hence, closing a door on something half-formed.”

I’m pretty sure I’m sat there with my mouth hanging open.

Craig lifts his eyebrows at me. “Am I understanding it wrong?”

I continue to stare at him blankly and swallow down the urge to say “ _Get out of my head, wizard._ ”

“Who had you had-“

“So, just saying you might be right,” I desperately interrupt him. “If you _were_ right, are you saying I’m wrong?”

“What?”

“That… it _doesn’t_ mean I can’t explore doing… anything with guys?”

“There’s no reason to believe that you can’t.”

“But… isn’t sex supposed to be difficult for-“

“That’s actually not true, it’s just commonly assumed. People deal with sexual abuse in different ways. Some people are actually sexually unaffected by rape. Others will respond by actually becoming more sexually active-“

“So a big ‘fuck you’ to their rapist?”

“Sort of, I suppose. Others have difficulty with intimacy, but not sex. And some have difficulty with sex, but not intimacy. There’s no standard response and definitely no ‘supposed to’ about it.”

“But… what if people found out and thought it had happened _because_ of the-“

“That’s an extremely dubious conclusion to make. And why are you so concerned about what people think? Is that why you never acted on this before?”

I frown. “ _Of course_ I care what people think about me. Also, can you imagine what it’s like being me? I’ve always been… well, fond of things that are more traditionally feminine. I’ve spent half my life telling people I’m _not_ gay.”

“I’m not suggesting you are gay, I’m suggesting you are attracted to some women and some men. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that and traditional masculine roles are totally irrelevant to sexual orientation.”

My head feels like it’s going to explode. I drop it into my hands and sigh.

“I’m just asking you to consider it. I’m not saying that’s the case.”

I look up at Craig, feeling slightly helpless. “Well, what are you saying I should do?”

“Just to think about it. Maybe… experiment, watch some videos online. All I’m suggesting is you _don’t_ let the rape close an avenue you wanted to look at before.”

I smirk. “Did you just suggest therapy by watching gay porn?”

“Something like that. I’m not writing a prescription for it, though.”

\- - - - -

I’m later sat in my living room, staring rather guiltily at the laptop, lube and box of tissues I’ve brought with me in preparation. I feel like a teenager likely to be caught jacking off. As opposed to… what? An adult who is unlikely to be caught jacking off?

I open the browser and then, for some reason, switch it to private mode.

Where do you even find gay porn? I haven’t even looked for porn online since before Steve, but I guess you go to the same sites? I open up the usual suspects and flinch at one of the featured videos: _“IT HURTS! IT’S TOO DEEP!” Whore gets choked and fucked in my kitchen._

At least it isn’t in the basement.

This is why I don’t do porn any more, it’s just… ugh.

Ignoring some of the more violent offerings, I scroll to the menu and look at the options; ah, okay, there’s a gay section. They seem to keep it away from the hetero stuff, unlike the lesbian porn that features pretty prominently. Maybe they don’t want to interrupt dudes jacking off with a load of wangs.

And again… ugh. Are these supposed to be sexy? _Big black bear reams tight white asshole_. Seriously?

I sigh. I don’t think this is the best idea. Or maybe I’m looking at the wrong kind of sites? Maybe I should pay?

Is the content less gross if you pay?

I try searching “softcore”, but it mainly seems to result in some masturbation videos that really do nothing for me. I scroll through a load of videos boredly, thinking that Craig was talking out of his ass, these do not do _anything_ for me.

Until I come across one that suddenly catches my interest. Not because of anything specific in the preview, but because it doesn’t look as oddly violent and has a lot less wincing in the previews clips than some of the others. “Older guy seduces young gay stud” is the very romantic title. I click on it.

Well… this is weird. I’m not really sure whether I’m turned on or not. I squint and turn my head to the side. I mean… that guy has a nice… ass? They both have nice asses?

I mean, the wangs make me feel kinda self-conscious. Like, they seem… kind of unnecessarily large? If I shaved down there would I look that… imposing?

However, at least the sex is quite gentle, certainly compared to the horrifying “reaming assholes” offerings from earlier. The kissing is… kinda sexy too…

Okay, so yeah, there is _some_ reaction. I wriggle slightly awkwardly, my boxers are feeling too tight. I groan and palm my cock through my pants, rolling my eyes.

Ugh, this is just frustrating. So now I’m hard and… oh, I don’t know what to do, Am I supposed to jerk off to this? Should I turn on some straight porn? If I’m apparently bi then that should work, right?

Screw it. I mean, I always tried to ace my assignments, right? I should go one better than porn and really go for an A+?

\- - - - -

By the time I’ve summoned up enough courage to call a cab to take me to the gay bar I’ve just researched online, repeatedly changed my outfit, got into the cab, choked down the hysterical urge to scream at the driver to pull over, gotten out of the cab, paid the guy and stared in indecision at the door to “Fubar” for some time I’ve totally lost the erection I was sporting earlier.

I’m also _really_ regretting my outfit choice. Turk’s right, I’m starting to look like I’m going to a Black Sabbath concert, I’m just missing the eyeliner. Or maybe I’ll just look like a pirate?

_Pirate JD, wearing a black Slipknot T shirt, a black bandana and dreadlocks and black eyeliner poses theatrically in front of Fubar._

_“Yarrr… all aboard the good ship… bisexual? Apparently?”_

I shake my head and narrow my eyes. Right. I’m doing this. Doing it, doing it, doing it…

Well, okay, at least people seem to check me out here. There’s more interested glances at me in about one minute than there were over the last year. Only… yeah, I think I’m just going to sit at the bar and hope no one looks at me any more, because actually it’s a bit creepy. Some of those guys are quite big.

“Appletini, please.”

“Smirnoff or Gray Goose?”

_Oh my God, he didn’t even flinch._

“Surprise me.” I giggle nervously and then wince, but just get an oddly indulgent glance from the barman before he passes me the appletini. Okay, so that has never happened in a regular bar, I generally just get a look of confusion and/or annoyance.

“Hey man.”

I glance over. A guy around my age with quite shocking blue eyes and dark curly hair has appeared next to me, but he wasn’t one of those creepy guys who were staring at me when I came in. He’s got a beer in hand (what’s the point in being gay if you have to have icky beer?) and smiles at me.

“Hi.”

He’s shorter than me. I mean, I’m kind of lanky even with the running, but this guy obviously works out, so the whole “shorter than me” thing isn’t really making me feel particularly masculine. There’s something about the rather striking blue eyes under his dark curls that’s… kinda cute. Is he hot? Am I just thinking he’s hot because I’m hyped on gay porn and Gray Goose?

“I’m Jack.”

I give a slightly awkward nod. “I’m JD.”

He grins at me. “You okay? You seem a bit nervous.”

“Yeah, I’ve never tried an appletini with Gray Goose, I’m worried.” I give the nervous little laugh again. “Um... why are all those guys looking over here?”

“Oh, them? They always look at fresh meat like that.”

I laugh. “Fresh meat? Seriously?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t say that they were very inventive. Just stick with me, they’ll stop after a while.”

I laugh. “Thanks for the protection. Do you want another beer?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Well, it’s the least I can do if you’re repelling the carnivores.”

I order a beer and another Gray Goose appletini.

“Do you work around here?”

I pull my sleeves down over my wrists absently. “Oh, yeah, I’m a doctor. I work at Sacred Heart.”

“That’s cool. I’m a buildings contractor.”

Seriously, he drinks beer and builds things? Does he shave down there too? I decide not to ask that.

“That’s… er, that’s pretty cool.” I try to think of something interesting to say and come up with a blank. I’m apparently equally horrible at flirting with either gender.

“So, that’s pretty awesome that you’re a doctor. If I passed out right now you’d be able to do CPR on me, right?”

So apparently he’s not put off by how horrible I am at flirting.

“Well, I’d only do CPR if your heart stopped. Otherwise I’d probably be breaking your ribs for no reason.”

_Oh, smooth. So smooth. Hey sexy, want me to crack your intercostal muscles?_

“But you’d still do mouth to mouth, yeah? I think it’d be worth it.” He grins again. “Sorry, I’m terrible at flirting.”

“Oh, I was just thinking about how horrible I am at this. I’m glad it’s not just me.”

“Shall I stop with the bad medical flirting? It doesn’t seem to be working anyway.”

“I don’t know, you could… I don’t know, use a syringe euphemism? Oh God, sorry.” I drop my head into my hands. “I’m kinda new at this and apparently I am going for some sort of record at putting my foot in my mouth. Sorry. Feel free to go see the carnivores.”

I’ve got my palms pressed against my eyelids and am trying not to grimace. Oh God, why am I doing this to myself? Isn’t it bad enough to humiliate myself daily at work, let alone trying this shit?

“You’re cute, you know that?”

“What?”

I glance at him suspiciously, but he seems genuine. I frown slightly.

“I’m not cute.”

“I beg to differ.” He smiles at me and there’s something about his blue eyes and curly hair that makes my stomach drop oddly. “I think you’re adorable.”

I scoff. “That makes me sound like a puppy.”

“Sexy and adorable?”

“Well, that makes you sound like you have a bestiality fetish.”

“Do you always deflect compliments like this?”

_Yes._ ”No.”

He glances down at his empty beer bottle. “Want to come back to mine and continue ignoring me trying to hit on you?”

_Oh God, oh God, I don’t know what to do, no._

“Sure.”

He grins at me and my brain seems to stop working entirely.


	7. 07. My Exploration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is definitely full on explicit/mature, so avoid this one if you don’t like that kind of thing...

Oh my God. What am I supposed to do? Is there some social protocol on telling someone that you’re… what, a rape survivor? Do you tell them _before_ sex? Surely that would ruin the mood?

I mean, it would ruin the mood more if you said it _during_ sex.

And you definitely can’t say it _after_ the sex, that would just be weird.

So, what, do you just not say it at all?

Can I not just have some sort of warning accreditation on me? “May have flashbacks and freak out, may panic and/or attempt to attack you if startled. Don’t ask, I don’t want to talk about it”. Maybe I should get a new tattoo? Also, need to keep shirt on. Should probably raise that politely.

Although, there’s not much opportunity to actually talk. As soon as Jack opened his apartment door and got me inside he had me up against the wall, kissing me hard. And, to my shock, I’d responded just as enthusiastically. One of my hands is tangled in his dark curls, whilst the other is circled around his broad back, pulling him closer to me. His arms are around my waist hard and he’s pressed one of my legs up slightly to grind our crotches together. Oh _God_ , I’m so hard…

I’d blame the appletinis, but I only had two.

Our teeth clash together and I pull away to gasp down some air. Jack busies himself in kissing his way down my neck and I feel him slide a hand under my shirt – ah, this would be the time to raise that then.

“I’m, uh, a bit self-conscious. Do you mind if I keep my shirt on?” I ask breathlessly.

He glances up at me in surprise. “Really? You look great from where I’m standing.”

I try not to look too smug. “Thanks, it’s…” I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t “I’m hideous, don’t look”. This would be hard to explain at the best of times, but worse when there’s apparently no blood left in my brain. Haha, _hard_.

He shrugs and then kisses me more gently, dropping his hand slightly. “No problem JD, whatever you want.”

_Really? That easy?_

He cups my face in his hand and smiles at me. “Sorry, I should slow down-“ _Nooooo_ “- Do you actually want the coffee? Or something else? I’m sorry, I have no idea how to make an appletini.”

I’m tempted to give him a masterclass.

_Jack and I in a sparkling stainless steel kitchen wearing matching “JD’s mixology class” tees. Jack watches adoringly as I demonstrate with my cocktail mixer._

_“-so you add the vodka and shake well before pouring. And_ then _you should garnish it with an apple slice if you want to do it properly.”_

_“Can we have sex now please?”_

_“Peasant.”_

“JD?”

“Could I get a latte please?”

He looks amused. “I can do white coffee, not sophisticated enough to have a latte machine I’m afraid.”

I inwardly kick myself. Why am I such a douche?

“That’d be great, thanks.” I wonder if I should say I can’t make lattes either, only I obviously can because I’m obsessed with making caramel lattes. Like I said, I’m not actually on a health kick and if I make the lattes I know what’s in them too. Also, who would want a _non-_ caramel latte?

He’s abandoned me against the wall to go and make drinks. I glance around the apartment; it’s nice. Roomy, open plan, pretty Spartan really. I make a huge effort to try and think clearly and lever myself away from my position sprawled against the wall to follow him to his kitchen. I watch him brewing the coffee, telling myself it’s because I think watching him is sexy rather than me being a suspicious bastard who thinks he might put something in my drink.

“Take a seat.”

This scuppers my plan to watch him suspiciously. I perch on the edge of the couch awkwardly and continue to wonder about the etiquette of telling Jack about Steve. I can’t see a way of doing that without totally derailing this; what if he’s sympathetic? What if he looks at me like all of my friends did afterwards? The idea makes my skin crawl. He said he thinks I look _great_ , what if he finds out I’m so damaged? I don’t want to see the look of revulsion and pity in his eyes. How great will he think I look then?

I don’t _need_ to tell him, surely?

Jack passes me the coffee and I thank him. He sits next to me on the sofa and loosely slings an arm over my shoulders. He’s drinking black coffee (ew) and absent-mindedly plays with my hair.

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away.” He grins at me. “You’re just really sexy.”

_I’m absolutely not telling him now, he thinks I’m sexy. No-one ever describes rape victims as sexy._

I smile back awkwardly. “I liked carried away, you didn’t need to stop.”

“Well, I thought we should probably at least talk. You said you were new to this.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s… very considerate.”

Whenever I have convinced a girl back to mine in the past I’d have just gone for it. I’m surprised that he’s remembered that from our conversation, but also that he’s slowed down to check. I’m also surprised I’m likening it to me bringing a girl back and frown at myself. Doctor Cox calling me Daphne is clearly getting to me.

This would probably be the ideal time to tell him. But no, no no no, I absolutely am not going to tell him. I _like_ how he’s looking at me, at the feeling of him playing with my hair, at the way he shoved me against the wall roughly.

Am I being deceitful? Surely I’m not? It’s not like we’re on a _date_ , he doesn’t need to know.

What if I freak out during sex? Shit. What if I have to _stop_ the sex? Argh.

No. Don’t tell him. Or keep it in reserve and if I chicken out I can tell him and run off before I see the disgusted look on his face.

“Have you done this before?”

“ _Yes_.” I respond, stung. _With Steve. That counts, right?_

“How often?”

“Isn’t that rude? How many guys have you slept with?”

“Twelve.”

_Oh._ “So I’m number thirteen? That doesn’t bode well.” I grin. He continues looking at me levelly. I sigh “Fine, just the one. It’s kind of… a new thing for me.”

“Yes, you seem a bit unsure.” He smiles. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with, no pressure.”

For some reason I resent him being so nice about it. I shrug slightly.

“Do you want to talk about keeping your shirt on?”

I shake my head and lean against his arm. I try to think of some small talk and give up, leaning over to take his face in my hands and kiss him. He tastes like coffee and beer, bitter but sexy as hell. I push him backwards gently and straddle him. He moves a hand around to cup my ass and rests the other on my back, apparently content to let me control the situation.

I expect a spasm of fear from him grabbing my ass, but (haha, butt) there’s nothing other than a warm, shivering sense of arousal as he does it.

I run my hands under his shirt, feeling the flat planes of muscle. He feels solid and warm and _God_ , it’s hot, I expected not to find it sexy compared to the softness of a woman, but it is so sexy, it’s _different_ but erotic as hell. I ignore the double standard of refusing to remove mine and undo the buttons of his shirt frantically. I pull back from his face and gaze down at his chest and stomach. Damnit, why does everybody seem to have a six pack apart from me?

Jack pulls me back up to kiss me and then tightens his grip around my back to pull me flat against him. The feel of being pressed against him makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. Part of me desperately wishes I could be skin to skin with him, to feel his hot, smooth flesh pressed against mine, the slide of skin on skin. I make a frustrated groaning noise into his mouth.

With his shirt open, his dark curly hair mussed up, blue eyes dancing and grinning at me he looks utterly, devilishly gorgeous. He threads a hand through my hair as I rest my hands against his broad chest, noticing the muscles ripple underneath my forearms. I try not to think about how much stronger he is than me, how easily his arm is encircling my waist. Part of me is responding by thinking it’s incredibly hot, whilst another part of me is running around screaming.

My hands are trembling again. I cling onto the edges of his shirt to hide it, then slide my hands down to his back, enjoying the exploration. He moans softly as I move my hands to his lower back and he presses his crotch into mine. I can feel how hot and hard he is. Again, I expect some sort of panicked reaction, but I just grind back and try not to whimper.

“Oh fuck.” He breathes, suddenly grabbing my ass and hitching me hard against him. I can feel the outline of his cock through his jeans against mine and the whimper slides out of me.

“You okay?” He checks.

“I’m good.” I murmur.

He sits up, me being sprawled over his chest apparently not causing him any difficulties. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

I hesitate slightly. Do I? I mean, yeah, Mr Peeps does, absolutely, but do I want to do this?

“Yes, I do.”

He wraps his arms around my waist and picks me up. I can’t help the laugh (definitely not a giggle) I let out as he does so and wrap my legs around his hips as he carries me through to the bedroom like I weigh nothing and throws me onto the bed before pouncing onto me. His mouth is suddenly back on mine as his hands are loosening my belt. I lift my hips up to help him get the damn pants off, my underwear going with it and finally freeing my erection. I sigh and bite his lip as he slides a hand along my length and then gently squeezes the base of my cock, wringing a strangled noise out of me. He laughs softly and kisses down my jaw, pulling his open shirt off as he does and then going back to firmly stroking my cock.

He kisses down to the neck of my shirt and glances up at me. “You sure I can’t persuade you out of this?”

I hesitate, my brain power being severely affected by what his hand is doing. It occurs to me that my chest and stomach are comparatively better than the rest of what is being covered up. And maybe it would be honest of me to let him see _some_ of the mess, so he gets some sort of warning, rather than my hiding it entirely? He can’t see my arms or back though.

“You… you can undo the buttons.” My voice is lower than usual, slightly husky. “It needs to stay on though… there’s some scars, just to warn you…”

I drop my head back, my eyes shuttering closed at the feeling of his thumb rubbing across the tip of my cock, apparently a reward for letting him see me. I don’t see that he should be rewarding me, I might be about to disgust him. However, once he fumbles the buttons open (uncharacteristically klutzy all of a sudden) his only response is to whisper “poor thing” before kissing down my chest and stomach, carefully avoiding the scars. He continues to kiss down towards my naval before – oh, _fuck_.

My cock is engulfed in the warm heat of his mouth, his tongue working over me, the slight scrape of his teeth and rasp of his stubble against my balls a sharp contrast to the sweet pleasure. I make an incredibly embarrassing wailing noise, taken by surprise. He pulls back to lick at the head of my cock, before swallowing me down again, his throat working on me. I splay my hands out on the bed beside me and try to stay quiet as he continues using his mouth on me, one of his hands cupping my balls and the other pressing flat against my stomach, somehow managing to _intensify_ the whole thing.

“Ah,” I gasp out, somehow getting about five different emotions into one syllable.

He laughs again and _fuck_ that feels good.

I feel I should reciprocate, although honestly, I’m not sure I’d be able to focus on him, even if I knew what to do. Warmth rushes through my abdomen and I bite my lip, realizing how close I am.

“Jack,” I groan out a warning, scrabbling my fingers through his curls. He pulls back and places several open-mouth kisses around my stomach and cock before kissing his way back up to my face. I feel my body grudgingly edge back from the near orgasm, precome spilling accusingly down my cock. Jack kisses me, tasting salty and musky. I thrust up against him, my cock pressing against denim.

“Oh fuck, sorry… I should do… I should…”

He sprawls to one side looking at me. Despite how relaxed he looks I can see that his pupils are blown, clearly turned on from what he’s been doing, his lips reddened and glistening. He looks ridiculously handsome and debauched and it’s almost painfully arousing.

“You shouldn’t do anything,” he drawls lazily. “I was enjoying that. You are so responsive.”

I’ll at least take his jeans off, that must be painful. I scramble down the bed to take his belt off and work his jeans down his legs, feeling slightly ridiculous in the open shirt and nothing else. I try (and probably fail) to not baulk at the sight of his cock. It resembles his stature in a way; not as long as my cock, but thicker and flushed, the heavy head a velvety texture as I stroke my fist up and down him a couple times.

I kind of want to try to use my mouth the way he was, but fear of not really knowing what to do – plus a concern for my jaw – mean I just stroke him for a while, because I know how to do that, I’ve done it to myself plenty. I watch the way his head falls back and his body reacts, the muscles in his stomach clenching every so often. He rolls his hips and flexes against my hand, totally naked and utterly unashamed.

He opens his eyes, sits up and pulls me to him, before lying back down with me on top and gently rocks his hips against mine, our cocks sliding together. It feels weirdly good, the heat and wetness, the feel of his cockhead occasionally pressing against mine, his hands on my hips, encouraging me to thrust back against him. I rest my forehead against his and give myself in to the sensation, rutting against him.

I realize by this point that I’m going to come soon no matter what. I bite my lip and open my eyes, glancing down at his face, flushed, eyes closed and nearly rapturous, causing a resulting jerk of arousal low in my stomach.

I’m not really sure of what I want; to continue this? Having got this far to not have sex feels like I’m chickening out, although Jack seems pretty happy with this. But if we do have sex, do I fuck him? Does he fuck me? How are you supposed to decide, do you flip a coin? Is he assuming he’ll do the fucking?

Sex with another guy is so confusing. Are there rules I don’t know about?

I remember the girl from the bar and know that fucking him is probably out of the question. So it would likely be him fucking me. Do I want that?

Judging by how the thought made my eyes roll closed and thrust particularly hard against him, my body seems to want that. My body has clearly been watching too much gay porn and forgotten that this would likely hurt, the last time certainly did.

Oh fuck it, if I don’t have sex with him I’ll probably never get up the courage to try this again. Just view it as an experiment to understand the human body more, to satisfy medical curiosity.

“Do you have any condoms?” I ask him.

He stills and opens one eye to look at me thoughtfully.

“Yeeesss,” he says slowly. “But we don’t need to-“

“I know we don’t _need_ to.” I lean down and kiss him gently, before murmuring. “I think I’d like you to fuck me though.”

He makes a soft growling noise in response, then kisses me back hard, flipping us over so he’s on top. I stroke my hands gently down his shoulders and look up at him, knowing I must look slightly scared and vulnerable.

“Just… just stop if I ask, yeah?”

The burning look in his eyes changes slightly, softens. He kisses my forehead and whispers “of course”.

He sits up on his haunches and smirks at me. “I guarantee you’ll be _begging_ me to keep going though, not to stop.”

“Oh, good, am I sharing the bed with your ego?”

He lifts an eyebrow and then leans over me to open a drawer in the bedside table, pulling out a condom and some lube. He tosses the condom absently onto the bed and then looks back at me, rubbing the bottle of lube between his hands, apparently to warm it up.

“When did you last do this?”

I shift slightly, uncomfortable. “A while ago…”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Okay, be secretive. Just say if you want me to slow down – or speed up, or stop. I have a rating of 100% satisfaction guaranteed, I can’t have that damaged.”

I scoff at him slightly and he grins at me again, kisses me and then lithely moves back down to my cock. “And since you made such sexy noises last time I did this…”

His mouth is back on me and _fuck_ maybe he really is 100% satisfaction guaranteed. In fact, it’s so good that I almost don’t notice when a slick finger pushes into me gently.

The sensation is… strange. My mind is pointing out that it _should_ hurt, but in reality it’s pressure and, combined with the rhythmic sucking on my cock is… pleasurable. He’s slowly rocking his finger back and forth in time to his mouth moving on my cock, sliding further in each time. It’s gentle and gradual and causing a sensation of something building behind my eyes. I moan out a “yes” to reassure him I’m enjoying it and splay my legs out further.

He’s actually being maddeningly slow, just sliding in a little further each time until I can feel the palm of his hand finally pressed up against my balls. Then he crooks his finger.

I can’t help it. I actually _wail_ this time, knowing he’s caught my prostate. I nearly come from that and feel a sheen of sweat suddenly coat my body, shivering lightly. He takes his mouth off me and kisses my stomach, gently working his finger in and out of me. He continues the rhythmic movement until I drop back down from the edge of orgasm (again) before he begins to lick along my cock again. And adds another finger.

This is closer to painful. The stretching is a slightly burning sensation that makes me hiss. He swirls his tongue around my cockhead in response and I feel my body relax again, the burning subsiding as he starts to slowly work both fingers into me.

Oh God, it feels so wrong, it feels so _good_.

“Jack,” I moan, feeling his fingers sinking in deeper, feeling so _full_. He presses his other hand on my stomach again and I feel a strange intensity, unsure where he ends and I begin.

He is so good at keeping me on the edge, not quite tipping over into orgasm. I feel mildly resentful that he can be so skilled at that, but there’s also a sense of relief that I can just relax and react to him. When I feel his palm pressed against me again, knowing his fingers are as deep as they can be, I let out a desperate moan. I’m hoping he’ll twitch his fingers up again to hit my prostate. When he just continues gently thrusting in and out I make an irritated huffing noise at him, leaning up on my elbows to glower down at him. He releases my cock from his mouth and then looks up at me, feigning innocence.

“Problem, grumpy?”

I jerk my hips slightly. “You’re such a tease.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh, you want _this._ ” He crooks his fingers up and I shudder.

“Your eyes roll when I do that,” he informs me conversationally. “It’s cute.”

He does it again and my arms collapse underneath me to sprawl bonelessly back down. He chuckles and continues to thrust his fingers into me, sitting up and lifting my ankles up to his shoulders, continuing to skewer me on his fingers. I feel a stab of fear, knowing that position _will_ likely cause a flashback, no matter how well the memory lockbox thing seems to be working.

“Not like that.”

“No? I wanted to see your face.”

I push myself back up onto my elbows and shake my head at him. “No… sorry, I can’t-“

“Don’t apologize, JD. I’m sure you look as sexy on all fours as you do on your back.”

He unhooks my ankles from his shoulders, dropping them back down to the bed and slowly withdraws his fingers. I let out a miserable little noise at their loss.

“Okay, turn over then. Let me get you ready this way.”

I scramble over onto my hands and knees, feeling graceless and annoyed with myself, although can’t stop the soft sigh as he starts to ease his fingers back into me again. He slowly builds a rhythm as he fucks me with his fingers and I’m soon rocking back against him, driving myself back onto him and letting out little cries with each impact.

Considering how worried I was about this, I seem to be really getting into it now. In fact, it doesn’t feel quite enough any more and I grunt quietly to myself, biting my lip.

“Please… please, fuck me, please.”

I say it quietly, self-consciously, but he hears and pauses, before quickening his pace, apparently checking I mean it. When I not only take the more intense movement, but groan loudly in response this apparently reassures him. He pulls his fingers out and I hear the sound of the condom packet being torn open.

He presses his knees between mine, kneeling upright. I press my ankles back against his and arch my back, looking over my shoulder at him. I’m practically smouldering and that seems to be enough to convince him that I am really ready. He picks up the lube and pours some onto his rigid cock, before grasping my hips with one hand and using the other to hold himself.

The initial push makes me yelp a bit. He’s thicker than the fingers he’s been using and despite how much I wanted _more_ a second ago, this feels a bit much. I feel myself tense and tremble and he strokes a hand down my flank.

“Relax, JD.”

I make an almighty effort to relax my muscles, feeling him gently stroking my side and massaging my hip. He reaches down to start fisting my cock, which finally gets me to relax. I feel myself open up, but he continues to shallowly thrust into me, not going any deeper. It can’t be comfortable, just having the tip inside, but he’s slowly rocking against me.

I sigh as I relax more and he murmurs “good, that’s good” and changes the angle so he’s sinking into me more each gentle thrust. What initially started out as a slow gentle easing is starting become another maddeningly slow process. I let out a frustrated moan.

“Tease.”

He laughs and then increases his pace, starting to fuck into me harder. I moan and cross my ankles over his where my legs bracket his.

“God, JD, you feel so good.”

Fuck, I think he’s nearly fully inside me. I feel stretched, full, an odd combination of intense pressure and stabs of pleasure. I can barely think, barely speak, just make pleasured moans and start to rock back against him, wanting him fully sheathed inside me.

And then he is and I can feel his heavy balls pressed against mine and I feel an odd sense of accomplishment. He freezes and moans, starting to jerk his hand quicker on my cock.

“It’s so hard not to just fuck you as hard as I can.”

“Go ahead.” I gasp out.

“No, I want it to last… fuck…”

I’m about to retort when he thrusts into me hard. I gasp, stars flickering in my vision as his cockhead hits my prostate. My legs tremble and I feel his breath hitch. He shuffles to keep the angle and begins to pound into me, firmly but slowly, hitting my prostate with each thrust. I cry out and arch my back, rocking back against him in time with his thrusts.

I’m all instinct and sensation and pleasure and pressure, meeting each of his thrusts with a roll of my hips back against him. And we’re suddenly moving in sync, the rough fucking and jerking back against somehow a more rolling movement we’re both responsible for. His hands are both on my hips, anchoring me in place as he presses into me. His breathing has quickened and I know he’s close, I’m close, I just need some pressure on my cock… and when I feel one of his hands leave my hip I know he’s going to reach around and-

His hand pumping my cock once is enough.

Suddenly all there is is pleasure and my muscles tightening around his cock, my balls spilling scorching come over his hand and the bedding, light screaming through my eyes and brain, my legs quivering and I’m moaning, _wailing_ , all sensation and white hot pleasure. I feel him still inside me and then groan, my internal muscles working around him, milking his orgasm from him.

We collapse together in a sweating, slightly sore heap.

\- - - - -

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling and feeling smug. I can have sex. I can _totally_ have sex, screw you Steve. I kind of want to laugh in relief, but am worried Jack might take offense at that. I’d built this up to such a big deal in my head, but it was totally fine. I kept expecting a flashback, the terror to come back, to feel trapped and I didn’t. I don’t really understand why.

I just went with it and didn’t think and, God, it was good.

I shift slightly, Jack’s head resting against my shoulder. He makes a sleepy noise and snuggles up against me, tangling his legs with mine and pressing his face against my neck.

Oddly, I feel less comfortable with this than I did with the sex.

“You were so good,” he whispers to me. I turn my head slightly and kiss his hair.

“So were you. 100% satisfaction guarantee intact.”

He laughs and snuggles into me more, his breathing evening out as he falls asleep against me.

Despite feeling uncomfortable (and slightly sore, if I’m honest), I can feel sleep tugging at me. After having one of the most intense orgasms of my life, nature is trying to take it’s course and make me fall asleep. I glance at the clock on his bedside table. 0133. My eyelids are heavy and I let them fall closed.

\- - - - -

I jerk awake, horribly alert. I don’t remember a bad dream and I can’t hear anything, but my heart is racing. I look around for the clock. 0215. I’m so _tired_ though and close my eyes…

\- - - - -

0302: Exhausted, awake, heart racing… calm down… close eyes…

\- - - - -

0412 and Jack has disentangled himself, sprawled on the other side of the bed. I glance over at him and sit up. Maybe if he’s not wrapped around me like a python then I’ll sleep better? Maybe it’s just the close proximity?

\- - - - -

0447: Nnnnnnnope, it’s not that. I’m so tired and sore and should be sleeping like a log after coming like a freight train, but this is clearly not working. I slide out of the bed and limp around to collect my clothes off of the floor, moving as quietly as I can not to wake Jack. I don’t want to explain myself and am starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable at his proximity.

What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I feel like a bit of a bastard as I slip out of the door. I’m sure he’ll get over it though, he was probably hoping the weird scarred nerd would leave anyway, he’ll probably be relieved. I consider leaving a note, but have no idea what to write ( _“Thanks for the sex, but I can’t stomach sleeping with you, sorry.”_ ).

So in the end I just hail a passing taxi and go back to the house, shower off the smell of his aftershave and, naked and slightly damp, fall into my bed and a deep sleep, not waking until 1300, realizing I’ve missed half my shift.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fucking fuck, what the fuck?


	8. 08. My Hangover

I look at my cell in horror. So many missed calls. How… how did I…?

I spring out of bed and yelp sharply, my knees buckling at the horribly familiar burning pain. I felt fine before, why… what…?

_No no no no no no, why did I do that, why?_

I grimace and sit awkwardly back on the bed, curling my knees under me. I choke down a weird, shamed sensation and then collapse back down into a sprawled mess on my bed. Self-consciously I slide myself back under the duvet, feeling exposed and vulnerable, naked.

Oh _no_ , so many texts…

Dr C:

10:05: _Priscilla, was there some sort of crazy biker chick rally last night that you just_ had _to go to?_

10:32: _Seriously though, you should be careful going to those kinds of things, I hope you used protection._

10:42: _By which I mean a helmet, obviously._

11:17: _Are you pissed? It was just a joke, seriously Newbie. Stop being such a girl._

Carla:

11:30: _Bambi, are you okay? Your shift started an hour and a half ago and I think Kelso has started to notice._

Dr C:

12:21: _Newbie, are you alright? The mousketeers are worried and I am too._

12:41: _Please, pick up._

I flinch and hurriedly text him back.

_I’m really sorry, feeling real sick._

I try to get out of bed again. My legs collapse under me.

I stare around the bedroom, panicked. When did I last go out of my routine? Sleep so late? All of my coping mechanisms are broken, I can’t go running to center myself, I can barely even walk. I know that logically it can’t all be the aftermath of the sex – the hangover from it – that I’m having some panic response that’s physically debilitating me. I squeak to myself and cover my eyes with my hands.

My cell starts to buzz again. I stare at it; call from Dr C.

I can’t ignore him, however much I want to. He’s worried and if I don’t answer he might come over.

“Hey.” I say it quietly, aware of the tremor in my voice and hope he thinks it’s from sickness than fear.

“JD.” He exhales, the relief clear in his voice.

“I’m sorry, I just woke up. I’m not feeling great.”

So, none of that was a lie, technically speaking.

“What’s wrong? Do you need anything?”

I shudder at the idea of telling him. “I think I just need to stay home today. Can you let Carla know please? I think she’s worried.”

If he’s noticed me avoiding the question then he doesn’t comment. “Sure. Message me if you want anything.”

“Thanks, will do.”

I hang up, frowning at my cell. He’s being uncharacteristically nice, but the last year has taught me that he is capable of being caring and empathetic. Just he generally only does it when I don’t really want him to be.

My heartbeat is racing and I can feel myself shaking, fine tremors running through my body. I try to move my legs again, to show myself that I’m sore but it’s not that horrible, agonizing pain again. I flinch and groan, rolling my head back. I need to calm myself, need to manage my emotions, I’ve been doing this successfully (ish) for nearly a year, I _can_ do this.

Meadow, meadow, think of meadow, damn it.

After about ten minutes of awkward meadow themed meditation I have managed to reset my pulse rate and have stopped shaking. I still feel weird though, unmoored and lost. Thoughts are trying to crowd in, trying to unsettle me and I am _not_ in control, I can’t run and control my body and… and what did I last eat and where was it from and –

Shit shit shit shit _shit shit shit._

On my third attempt I manage to stand up. My thighs ache and there is some pain, not too bad but enough to affect my walking. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling horribly naked and vulnerable. I limp awkwardly into the bathroom and run a bath, collapsing into it and then wailing to myself as the hot water causes sharp pain to flare up again.

\- - - - -

Okay, so I am dressed, have swept my hair back and generally look... acceptable. I lean on the bathroom sink and stare at myself in the mirror, seeing the tight, distressed look around my eyes and mouth.

Why did I _do_ that? Why did I just… do something on impulse, I didn’t think, why did I…? Why didn’t I _think_ , why did all of my constant risk assessment seem to be so completely dismissed?

I look back at my cell. Shit. I need to call Craig.

Shit, he’s going to be really pissed at me.

\- - - - -

Craig’s receptionist was able to fit in an emergency appointment without my having to give any details. I wonder if this is common or whether Craig had left notes about some of his more screwed up patients saying to allow them to do that. I called a taxi; I was not up to straddling the damn motorcycle today.

“JD? What’s up?”

He looks worried and tired, his prematurely gray hair standing up slightly at the back of his head.

“I… uh…” I try to hide the limp as much as possible and collapse onto the sofa opposite him. “So, I took your advice.”

“My advice?”

“Yeah, you said to… uh, consider my sexuality.”

He looks at me slightly suspiciously. “I suggested you think about it and maybe watch some videos to explore it.”

“Yeah. Um. Well, I kinda went one better.”

His eyebrows appear to be making a bid to escape up into his hairline.

“You… went one better?”

“Yes.”

I stare awkwardly down at my hands. _Please don’t get really pissed. Please don’t be disgusted and refuse to see me any more. I need you, I need you…_

“What do you mean, JD? What happened last night?”

“I… I watched some videos. It was kinda hard to find one initially, porn is really violent…. Anyway, I found one and watched it…”

“And?”

“And there was a reaction. You were right.”

“And that upset you?”

“No… it frustrated me…” I look up at him guiltily. “I thought…. Well, I thought I should… experiment?”

“Oh God.” He drops his head into his hands. “Please don’t tell me you went out and hooked up with some guy last night?”

I grimace. He looks up, sees my expression and then throws his hands up in the air.

“JD, _what_?!”

“What?”

“That’s… that is so-“ he stops, closes his eyes for a second and exhales. “That doesn’t seem particularly well thought out.”

“I just thought I should _try_ it, that it couldn’t be any worse than Steve.”

“That is _not_ a good bench mark, JD. Did you know the guy?”

“No…”

“So, I need to get this straight; you, someone who suffers from a sexual trauma-related stress disorder, went and had sex with someone who you did not know who could have-“

“Nothing bad happened!”

“It was _risky_ JD! Even moreso for you than for… than for-“

“Than for someone normal?” I spit back.

“I don’t mean it like that. JD, I know that you have some impulse control issues sometimes, but this…”

I shiver. “I was… I was just tired of being… I don’t know…” I put my head into my hands. I don't even know how to verbalize it, how to explain that constantly being careful, constantly assessing risk, constantly viewing everyone and everything as a threat is just so tiring. And that it was so great to _not_ have to do that any more, to be able to just do something on impulse, not be fettered or snared by my own mind, which, in a way, is even worse than those traps being imposed on me. That being able to do that was almost like a high, that it was addictive and exhilarating. And then gave me one Godawful hangover. 

Craig seems to have gotten himself back under control. He sighs and looks at me sympathetically. “Alright. Alright, I’m not trying to upset you or make you feel bad.”

I glance up at him. “Are you going to stop seeing me?”

“No, JD. I’m glad you were honest with me about what happened. Something has obviously upset you. Was… was it the sex?”

“No! No, actually, the sex was… fine. Better than fine, actually.”

“Better than fine?”

“Yeah, I sort of… just went with it. No flashbacks, no panic attacks, nothing. It was… great, actually.”

He frowns. “You had sex with absolutely no negative consequences?”

“The sex was fine. Um, but afterwards…”

I describe my inability to sleep last night (although don't tell Craig that I should have been able to sleep due to "coming like a freight train", as I doubt he'll appreciate that detail). I then outline my reaction this morning. Craig nods when I finish outlining what happened.

“So, the physical acts were not a problem for you, but the intimacy was?”

I nod.

“That’s not necessarily unusual. I’ve told you before that there is not a “correct” response to trauma. In your case it seems that you can physically have sex, but emotional intimacy triggers a flight response in you.”

“That seems weird though.”

He shrugs. “Not really. Did you discuss what had happened to you before you were sexually intimate?”

I scoff. “No.” At Craig’s mildly annoyed expression I become more defensive. “I did _think_ about it, but I didn’t know when would be the right time to bring it up.”

“Yes, maybe there would have been an opportune time to discuss it if you hadn’t immediately had sex with him?”

I glare at him. “You said you weren’t trying to make me feel bad.”

Craig rolls his eyes. “I am not trying to make you feel bad, I am trying to highlight how you could healthily deal with this, in the event that you repeat this and want to avoid having a panic attack the next morning.”

“You think I should do it again? I’m not sure Jack will be keen to see me after I snuck off.”

“I’m not suggesting you do it again; you should do what you want to, _if you think things through_. Did you not explain where you’d gone?”

I shake my head. “I freaked out and I didn’t know what to do; I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Didn’t you think that was a bit unfair of you?”

“Unfair?”

“It sounds like Jack liked you. Would you normally leave a partner asleep without a word of goodbye after sex?”

“No, but they were all girls. Jack’s not a girl.”

Craig frowns at me. “No, but it’s still a basic courtesy, no matter what gender. You can’t treat someone badly and then defend that behavior by saying you didn't feel compelled to be chivalrous.”

I bite my lip. “But… well… oh.” I think about it. “Damn. That was… pretty hurtful of me, wasn’t it?”

“You were limping when you came in. Are you physically alright?”

“I’m sore, but nothing too bad. I was fine afterwards, but when I woke up later it hurt more. I think it was mainly the panic though, making me tense up.”

“Take some painkillers and rest for a few days.”

“But I need to run.” I grimace. “I _need_ to, it clears my head.”

“You can’t. Is there anything else you can do?”

“No… I thought about meadow earlier, but that was because I was panicking. I…” I feel distressingly close to tears at the thought of not being able to strictly control my routine, not to be _in control._

“What about if you’re sick? You must not run sometimes.”

I shake my head. I once went running with a hangover and threw up on my route. I _can’t_ not do it, it’s part of how I cope. I give him a helpless look.

“You could try walking instead.”

I sigh. I still feel horribly choked and close to tears.

“You need to do self-care tonight-“ I make a face and Craig notices. “I know you hate that phrase, but you do. You need to focus on yourself and try to center and calm down. Are you working tomorrow?”

I nod.

“Should you be working tomorrow? Can you change shifts?”

“I don’t _want_ this to be a big deal. I don’t want to have to change things.” My voice is horribly shaky. “I want things to get back to normal.”

Craig sighs. “That might take some time.”

I drop my head back into my hands. “I want things to be normal.”

He doesn’t reply.

\- - - - -

As an interim solution I set up an appointment for after my shift ends tomorrow, before calling a taxi and returning home. After locking the doors I sprawl on my sofa and stare at the ceiling blankly for some time, before realizing I should probably eat something; I’ve not eaten during the day and have not had anything in the last 24 hours apart from appletinis and coffee.

Eating is self care, right?

Only I have no food because I was supposed to go grocery shopping after my shift. Soup, order soup. And hot chocolate, I really want a hot chocolate. I’m sure I can find one that has a calorie count.

I have around six billion new texts (only a slight exaggeration) so while I wait for the order to arrive I try to answer them.

Dr C:

14:29: _Are you ill with something embarrassing? Did you fall off your motorcycle?_

15:12: _Sorry. Do you need anything?_

16:00: _I’m coming off my shift at 5, let me know if you need me to bring anything for you._

_Sorry, just picked this up. No, did not fall off, you’d have seen me in Sacred Heart if I had fallen off that hog. I’m fine, just need some rest I think. Thanks though._

Carla:

13:45: _Perry says you’re ok. Let me know if you need anything._

15:20: _Do you want me and Turk to come over later?_

_Thanks, I’m good. I’ve just ordered some soup, supposed to be the best healer, right? I mean, apart from actual medicine. Don’t tell my patients I said that._

Turk:

14:30: _Dude, you are so bunking off work! I’m proud!_

_Haha, wasn’t bunking off Turk, sorry to disappoint. I have watched a lot of Cheers though._

(I’m going to watch it later, so that doesn’t feel too much of a lie.)

Elliot:

15:00: _JD, why do you think the Janitor is out to get you? He totally noticed you weren’t here today._

_That’s because he had nobody to torment, Elliot. He is not a nice guy. He is evil._

Dan:

17:15: _Heyyyyy lil brother. When’s good to call?_

I grimace; the idea of trying to pretend everything is normal with Dan tonight makes things seem even worse.

_I’m not feeling great today, how is later in the week?_

To my surprise he responds faster than anyone else.

_How not feeling good? Body sick or mind sick?_

Trust Dan to be that blunt. I frown, but decide to be honest.

_Mind sick. I’m not sure that’s how you’re supposed to say it though, Dan, it seems sort of offensive._

_You know me, I’m the definition of offensive. Guessing you don’t want to talk about it?_

_Not really. Just not a good day today, should be better soon._

The doorbell rings and I wander over, still typing my response to Dan’s last message. It’s about time my soup arrived, I’ve realized that I am actually starving. I’m therefore surprised when I unbolt the door to see that Doctor Cox is standing at the doorway. Inexplicably he seems to be holding the soup and hot chocolate I ordered. I stare at him blankly, confused.

“Did you intercept my soup?”

He glances down at the two containers. “Nooo, Ted Bundy, the delivery guy arrived when I did. So I brought it over.”

“Seriously, Ted Bundy?”

“I’m running out. You need to do something new and embarrassing so I can change the theme without losing face.”

I try not to let any expression show on my face; the last thing I need is him coming up with any names themed around running away after sex. “Riiight. How much do I owe you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just take the soup, Ed Kemble. And let me in, it’s freezing out here.”

I take the soup, clutching it to me and reluctantly reverse slightly to let him in. The painkillers are working enough that I can walk without the limp being too obvious, but I really don’t want him here.

“You can’t have my soup.” I say as he pushes past me, although seriously doubt that he cares. “Also, stop calling me serial killer names.”

“I don’t want your soup, Newbie. I wanted to check on you.”

I frown. “I said I was fine.”

“Yes, and you have such a brilliant track record of being honest about that kind of thing.”

I sigh and pour the soup into a bowl before retrieving the hot chocolate from him, becoming mildly excited by seeing that it has s’mores in. I put the soup, hot chocolate and my cell onto the coffee table and then sit down on the sofa and glance at him, where he has sprawled onto the beanbag.

“I just missed a shift because I wasn’t feeling great. It’s not a big deal.”

“Only whenever you’ve missed a shift in the past you’ve sent me around fifteen incredibly apologetic messages before your shift. Not ignore multiple calls until you’ve missed a good three hours of when you were supposed to be working.”

I wince slightly. “I didn’t do that on purpose, I was asleep. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.”

He looks at me thoughtfully. I awkwardly spoon some of the soup up, but feel strangely self-conscious about eating it in front of him whilst he watches me intently. “Do you want any soup?”

“No, I don’t want any damn soup, Newbie. Stop being obsessed with the soup.”

“Well, I’m going to eat it now, even with you staring at me weirdly. I’m hungry.”

“What was wrong with you?”

“Nothing, I was just feeling sick.”

At that exact moment, Dan chose to message back, allowing Doctor Cox to quite clearly see the message: _Sorry you had a crazy day, lil bro. Message me if you want to talk._

Oh, great. Now it looks like I trust Dan more than Doctor Cox, when I only really told Dan because he’s thousands of miles away and therefore cannot come bother me. Although crazy day could mean anything, I guess. Although Doctor Cox likely gets what he means.

We both stare at Dan’s slightly incriminating message for a moment.

“My brother, as you can see, is very sensitive about what language to use around me.”

Doctor Cox lets out a bark of laughter, before standing up. “Are you going to be at work tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, see you there. I just wanted to check everything was okay.”

I stand up too and walk to the door with him. “It is, thanks.”

After he leaves I rebolt the door and eat my slightly cool soup before starting on the hot chocolate. Mmmm, s’morey.

I glance at my cell.

_Did you leave because I didn’t let you have any soup?_

I’m halfway through an episode of Cheers and mostway through the hot chocolate when he replies.

_Yes, Newbie, my repeated lack of interest in the soup was hiding my deep desire for it. I was very hurt. Why are you so obsessed with the goddamn soup?_

_Because I was hungry. The hot chocolate is awesome though. It has s’mores._

I have no idea why I’m telling him this.

 _Yes, Clarice. I am currently drinking scotch – something that_ adults _drink in the evening. Stop prattling at me about soup and s’mores._

_Soup and s’mores would be disgusting. The croutons would get all marshmallowy._

I frown and watch Lilith for a while before sending him a second message.

_I bet if scotch had s’mores in it would be less icky._

_Good Lord, Delilah, could you be any more girly?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor stressed JD :(


	9. 09. My Caged Performer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some homophobic language and a flashback.
> 
> Also, another warning for a terrible decision.

The next morning I wake at 0600 (much better) and tentatively get out of bed, to find that I am still achey but the pain has mainly gone (also much better). So I go for a gentle jog for around half the distance I’d usually do. It’s raining and cold and dark, but the cool air and the freedom mean I really could care less. It’s just a relief to be able to do this, although I know it’s not healthy to be so reliant on being able to control everything. Or as much as is feasibly possible to control, anyway.

My shift is uneventful apart from people making jokes about oversleeping and Doctor Cox being overly attentive and watchful. The latter is annoying, but I quite like the jokes; people are always so careful about teasing me and it’s a relief in a weird way to have them being slightly mean. It’s like before.

My session with Craig is also pretty standard; we don’t do any EMDR, with this being postponed until next week and he just checks in on my mental state. I truthfully tell him that I’m feeling much better than yesterday, although that’s not really much of an achievement.

Which is why it’s annoying that I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling unable to sleep.

I had sex with a guy.

I _had sex_ with a guy.

I had sex _with a guy_.

I frown. Would I have had sex with a guy if all of the shit with Steve hadn’t happened? I don’t know, Craig’s point that it had made me face that part of myself probably implying that I wouldn’t have done. Or would I have figured it out and be less freaked out before?

I sigh. This is not helping.

\- - - - -

_I'm dangling by my shattered wrists, and Steve's holding onto my hips, his fingers crushing into them with an agonizing pressure. My wrists are shattered, thundering pain pulsing through me, but I'm trying to kick him off me. I twist desperately, the pain in my wrists getting impossibly worse, and kick him hard in the midriff. He grunts, then forces my knees apart. I freeze for a second, the utter vulnerability and helplessness sending me into immobility. Part of me just wishes I was face-down so I don't have to see him._

" _Please…" I sound so pathetic. "Please, Steve, don't do this."_

_He glances at me, then dismisses me as unimportant. I scream then, a scream that tears my aching throat to pieces, but I don't care._

" _Please!"_

_I know what he's going to do just before he does it. As a last defense I close my eyes to try and block out what's happening. One of my legs is propped over his shoulder, leaving me horribly vulnerable and his pants are on the floor._

_It HURTS. He forces himself into me with absolutely no concern for my pain. I really am screaming now, the throbbing pain in my wrists matched by his angry harsh thrusting. I try to kick him again, but it just makes him increase the pace and hurts me more. My eyes are kept screwed shut. He slaps me hard across the face. I don't care. I'm not going to look at him. That's the one thing he can't have control over._

_“Problem, grumpy?” Jack’s voice shocks my eyes open and I stare up at him, Steve horribly transformed into Jack, still pressing agonizingly into me, still in the basement._

_“No, no, this isn’t you, this isn’t you! You didn’t do this!” I cry out, my voice shrill with horror._

_“Oh, you want this?”_

_He slams into me hard and I feel tearing and blood welling up. I sob and close my eyes, twisting my face away, confused and pained and horrified._

_“This isn’t you, you didn’t do this.” I sob out._

_“Good Lord, Delilah, could you be any more girly?”_

“No!”

I’m wide awake and sat bolt upright, sweat drenching me. Oh God. _Oh God._ What was that?

I scrub a hand over my eyes and squint at the clock by the bed. 0520.

Early run, early run, time to run and not think.

I’m limping by the time I get back home, my desperation to run and keep my mind completely blank overriding the sensible parts of my brain telling me not to push too much. I shower and lean my head against the glass, feeling rivulets of hot water running down my face and stare blankly at the water draining away.

That hasn’t ever happened before. Flashbacks, unwanted memories, sure, but they’ve not been altered, they’ve not… involved other people like that. What does that mean? Does that mean anything?

I frown and shut off the water. I don’t have a shift today. Which is kind of good, but leaves me with all this swirling around my head.

I try to distract myself. By midday I have bought a load of groceries, cooked an eggplant pasta bake, cleaned the entire house and stood in the meadow for some time trying to figure out if I should try any gardening or whether I will inadvertently kill all of the wildflowers if I try. I decide to leave them alone – I don’t really want to add flora genocide to my list of achievements for the day – and go back inside. The same annoying thoughts and questions are still stuck inside my head.

What had Steve’s sex life been like? He’d been abused by his father during his childhood, what sort of relationships had he had since? Had he had any? Had he _enjoyed_ having sex the way I had with Jack?

Did he dream about his friends doing _that_ to him?

I shudder.

Did Steve even have friends? Nobody visited him at Sacred Heart and I didn’t remember ever seeing anyone at his trial supporting him.

I frown and open my laptop, accessing Google Maps. I check the route and sit for a few minutes, considering whether I should do something this dumb.

Screw it, I’m making a habit of doing stupid things. Why not?

\- - - - -

Gateway House Psychiatric Hospital is a two hour coastal drive away. Which, since I’m dreading this, seems to take about five minutes to get to. Of course, I’ve known he was here ever since he was committed and considered this a few times before, although generally I stopped considering it as soon as the idea of actually _seeing_ him came into my mind. But… well, only Steve knows the answers to the questions that have been bugging me so much. And maybe he’ll understand?

I park the Aprilia and snort slightly to myself. Hoping Steve will understand shows I’m at an all-time low.

I’m rather hoping that the receptionist will tell me I can’t see him without an appointment when I ask if I can see Steven Gourley. However, her face lights up.

“Oh, I’m so glad.” She beams at me. “He never has visitors, poor thing. He’ll be delighted.”

_Poor thing? Poor thing?! He's viewed as pitiable here?_

I have to hand over all sharp objects and sign a disclaimer before going in. I’m led into a private visiting room, consisting of a table with smooth edges and weird, smooth chairs. Both the chairs and the table are fixed to the floor and the room is surrounded by safety glass, clearly all designed so that a melted candy bar could be more effectively weaponized. Everything is painted a calming sky blue color, which I’m very aware makes me look even paler and like I’m about to vomit.

I kinda might vomit, to be honest.

Particularly when a slightly confused Steve is led in, clearly unsure of what is going on. He catches sight of me and a horrible, slow smile spreads over his face. He sits down opposite me as the porter secures his wrists to the table with leather straps.

I look up into his weirdly predatory smile and desperately want to run away. He looks well, his blond hair slightly shaggy and a healthy glow to his skin. I bite down the frustration that, despite all my “self care” and exercise and attempts to be healthy I still look slightly ill most of the time. Whilst Steve, enormous bastard that he is, looks like he could win an award for all-American wholesome values.

“John!” He beams at me. “I like the leather, you look like an extra from Grease.”

I frown at him. “I rode a motorcycle here, it’s not a fashion statement.”

“And your hair’s a bit like Danny Zuko. It looks a lot better than when I saw it last.”

I’m not having Steve commenting on how terrible my shorter hair was as well as everyone else and change the subject. “How are you, Steve?”

“I’m good.” He continues to beam unnervingly at me. “Lots of therapy, lots of help here. They’re making sure I get better.”

“That’s… that’s good.”

“Definitely. It’s all healing and hopefully in a few years there’ll be the opportunity for me to get back into the real world.” I blanch at this, which Steve clearly notices. His grin widens further.

“I’d like to get back to looking after animals. I’m allowed to interact with them here sometimes, but it’s frustrating to not be able to help.”

“Oh. What sort of animals?”

“Dogs, mainly. They’re used as therapy animals a lot, although I think they should let us interact with horses more. Studies show that they have a very calming effect, more so than canines.”

I stare at him blankly. This conversation seems incredibly bizarre.

“I guess you miss them?” Part of me wants to apologize for separating him from animals, that same stupid part of me that felt guilty when I was in his basement, guilty for _him_ doing what _he_ did to me.

“Miss what?”

I shrug. “Your work. Animals. I know I’d find it difficult if I couldn’t practice medicine any more.”

“Well, yes. I do. I always preferred animals to people, you can trust animals. They don’t usually go out of their behavioral patterns, they’re predictable. But I still see the dogs here and they let me take care of them. It helps.”

I stare back at him, at a loss for what I should say next. What are you _supposed_ to say when you visit your rapist in a psychiatric hospital? Should I ask him about the weather?

“So John, to what pleasure do I owe this visit?”

I twist my hands nervously together. “I’ve… I’ve been having a lot of therapy as well.” I tell him.

“Oh, what are you having? We can compare notes.”

God, I feel nauseated. There’s nothing in here to vomit in, presumably the authorities being concerned that a trash can could be used to assault a visitor. My skin is crawling and I can feel a cold sweat trying to break out, my body reacting pretty intensely to being trapped in a room with him again.

“EMDR. But I wanted to ask you… about… well, about how things worked for you after…”

“After what my father did?”

I nod, swallowing down the nausea I can feel at the back of my throat. _Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke._

“What sort of things?”

“Relationships. Could you…” I swallow again nervously, dreading directly asking him about it. “Could you have sex after it?”

He frowns. “Of course I could.”

An odd wash of relief runs over me. I don’t want to be like him, but God, it is _such_ a relief to know that he wasn’t stuck unable to have any connections with others. So there’s hope for me?

“You didn’t find it difficult though? The sex or the intimacy?”

“No, not at all. It was completely different.”

I relax slightly, feeling an odd, slightly nervous smile on my face. “That’s… that’s really good to know.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “The women I had relationships with – or just sex – would be very understanding if I told them about it, it never caused a problem.”

I pause, confused. “The women? You were with women, not men?”

He laughs. “Of course with women, not men. I’m not like _you_.”

A horrible, icy sensation has settled in the put of my stomach, like I’ve just eaten a snowman. “Wh… what do you mean, you aren’t like me?”

He smirks at me. “You know what I mean.”

“N-no, I don’t.”

He roll his eyes. “Don’t be coy. I never _came_ when my father did that to me.” He leans forward suddenly, his face inches from mine. “I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it.”

The venom in his voice is so sudden and vicious I feel myself shrink back automatically, shaking. “I’m not-“

“And then you even broke into my house to come back for more.” He gloats, continuing to stare into my face, making horrible, intense eye contact. “Was it that good, John? Couldn’t get it anywhere else?”

I scramble backwards, desperate to be away from him. What was I expecting? Why did I come here? He starts to laugh, watching me reversing and scrabbling towards the door.

“Great to see you John. Do _come again_.”

The leer on his face is somehow worse than the savage expression that was there a second ago. I swallow down the rising bile and shoot out the door, hearing his laughter continuing as I do so.

\- - - - -

I just about get to a washroom in time and heave up everything I’ve eaten recently. When I finish I press my forehead against the cool wall of the cubicle and let out a ragged sob. I’m trembling, sweat making my T shirt stick to me.

I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself down. There’s no way I’m getting a taxi from here all the way back home. Not only will it cost about a week’s wages, I don’t want psychiatric hospital on my record of taxi journeys. The advertising would be horrendous.

I open my eyes and blink the sweat out of them. I had to surrender my cell phone when I handed over my keys and other things at reception. I wish I had it with me now. I want to send inane text messages and generally try to focus on anything that was _not_ that conversation.

_I’m not like_ you _._

I close my eyes again and shiver. I curl into a ball and wrap my arms around my knees, literally and metaphorically trying to hold myself together.

I’m not falling down that rabbit hole again, blaming myself for him targeting me, thinking if I only seemed more masculine then it wouldn’t have happened. Anyway, he didn’t mention that, just mentioned that I… that I…

Oh God, _do come again_? Was that intentional? It’s like something The Todd would say, I should have just yelled “in your endo” back at him.

I narrow my eyes. It’s a perfectly natural response, stimulation of the prostate can result in orgasm, it doesn't _mean_ anything. Only, I did have sex with Jack just this week (and very enthusiastically orgasmed from that). But that’s different from what Steve did, equating the two is just wrong. And an orgasm is irrelevant, it’s not like an autonomic nervous response means I wanted it. Didn’t mean it wasn’t agonizingly painful.

I cringe.

Why did I come here?

Craig is going to be so mad at me. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him? It’s healthy to face up to your fears, right?

I remember his expression when I told him about facing up to my fears and having sex with Jack. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him…

\- - - - -

I manage about an hour’s drive on the Aprilia before I have to pull over to throw up again. I do so discreetly into a bush and then sit on the motorcycle and stare at the sea, waiting for my face to stop copiously sweating so I can put my helmet back on. I pull out my cellphone and consider calling or texting someone, but I’ve no idea who or what I would say. I could tell Dan maybe, but his likely response would either be anger at me for doing something so stupid or just saying “heyyyyy lil brother” repeatedly, which he tends to do when he isn’t sure what else to say.

Carla _might_ understand, but I don’t think I could deal with the pity I know I'd see in her eyes whenever she saw me.

I sigh and bite my lip. Really, why should I expect any sympathy? I did this to myself, I voluntarily exposed myself to something so damaging. I should just leave my friends out of this, they don’t need to know how moronic I’ve been.

I pull my helmet back on, take a last look at the sea rolling in and continue the drive back home.

\- - - - -

I get home, lock the doors securely and look forlornly at the eggplant pasta bake. I really don’t have much of an appetite. I sigh and heat it up before curling up on the beanbag and eating around a quarter of a normal portion before my treacherous stomach informs me that any more will result in yet another vomiting episode. I stop and sightlessly watch another Cheers episode.

I remember the text “conversation” from the night before and out of scientific curiosity I go and retrieve the bottle of scotch (which I did _not_ get just in case Doctor Cox dropped by) and combine it with s’mores.

Oh God, that’s still yucky.

I choke slightly and put it hastily down onto the coffee table. I take a photo with my cell and then sit considering whether to send it to Doctor Cox or whether he will never speak to me again if he sees what I did to the scotch, which is possibly like disrespecting a close and important family member to him. I sigh and delete the photo and stare at the TV screen.

_I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it._

I grit my teeth and stare at Norm.

I’m not, that’s not me either. Bastard. Bastard bastard _bastard_.

I clutch my hair into my hands and pull at it, screwing my eyes closed, curling my knees back up under my chin, cocooning myself on the beanbag.

_I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it._

“Neither am I.” I snarl out in my knees.

_I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it._

“Even if I enjoyed it with Jack, that doesn’t mean-“

_I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it._

_I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it._

_I’m not some fucking homo who enjoys it._

_I’m not some fucking homo-_

I scream into my legs.

_I’m not-_

“SHUT UP!”

I start to sob roughly into my hands. I fumble for my cell and stare at it, the tears rolling down my face.

I want to ask someone for help, I really want to. But I don’t know who and I don’t know how I can even ask. Or to deal with the shame that will come from having to admit to why I need help.

_I’m having a real bad day._

I stare at the message to Dan and then sigh and delete it. What could he possibly say that will make me feel better? What would that message do, other than make him worry?

_I need help._

I type it and then stare at the recipient list. Hover over the “Dr C” contact, then over Carla. Then over Turk. Then I sigh and delete the message again.

I screw my face up and let out a miserable whine.

I wish I could punch something, release this tension. But my wrists haven’t healed quite right and I know if I use a punchbag or anything similar it would hurt me and possibly misalign my wrists. Again. Even if I was the sort of guy who would use a punchbag.

I snarl, get up and change into my running gear. This is all I can do, my only way of controlling this, releasing it.

\- - - - -

Two hours later I stagger back inside. All of me aches, I can barely stand, let alone walk. I’ve overdone it, my limp is back and my stomach is churning after repeatedly throwing up today and then being abused by overexertion.

And so I inevitably vomit the pasta bake back up as well.

_For God’s sake…_

I collapse onto the couch and into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	10. 10. My Green Eyed Monster

For the last week there’s been something really wrong with Newbie. He’s been looking pale(r) and wan and exhausted whenever he comes into the hospital, dark shadows under his eyes. He’s trying to hide it as usual, but it’s clear that there’s something wrong. I’ve found him in the lounge on a couple of occasions with his head down, his hands tangled in his hair, a look of abject misery on his face. I had backed off, careful not to disturb him and too cowardly to ask what the problem was.

I even tried to go see him after work, but he didn’t open the door. I’m pretty certain he was inside, just ignoring me.

Out of desperation I even messaged Dan to try and trigger some useful update.

_Hey, asshole. What’s going on with your brother?_

His response wasn’t exactly encouraging.

_He’s going through some stuff, Coxeroo. He’ll tell us if he needs to._

_You really are absolutely fucking useless, you know that?_

So I’m standing at reception and waiting to see if I can catch him coming off shift. I’m really not sure what I’m hoping to achieve here, other than knowing that JD will find it more difficult to ignore me if he can actually see me. Great. What a plan. I growl at the clip board in front of me and try to find something to vent my horrible mood at.

There’s a guy hovering around in reception who is really beginning to irritate me. He doesn’t look remotely sick (in fact, he looks like a healthy living advertisement) and seems to be waiting for someone as well. He’s young, short and stocky, with annoying good looks, dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. He’s also carrying a bouquet of flowers and glancing hopefully towards each doctor who comes out into reception.

“Hey, Romeo.” I snap at him. He glances over at me. “This is a hospital, not a speed dating service.”

“Hey, man, I’m just waiting for a friend.”

“Right, well, if your friend didn’t tell you when her shift was ending then she probably doesn’t want to see you.” I cast a derisory glance over his T shirt straining over his biceps. “You should probably get back to your pole before the other gogo dancers steal your best money-making position.”

He lifts an eyebrow at me and I’m pretty sure mutters “wow, what an asshole” to one of the patients, who stifles a snigger. I glare at him, identifying a good target for my ire and am about to launch into him (I’m sure I can do more with the gogo dancer theme or him being stood up) when I’m distracted by JD walking into reception. He doesn’t seem to have noticed me and is focused on something on his cell.

Before I can catch his attention the guy I was about to really let rip at notices him.

“JD.” He steps towards Newbie, who glances at him in surprise and then the flowers with a distinct look of horror.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

“Samantha, are you meeting a _date_ here?”

Newbie looks – if possible – even more horrified at noticing me there, looking between me, the bouquet and the flower guy with an expression that suggests he has suddenly and dramatically lost the will to live.

“Jack? Are you visiting someone here?”

He’s clearly speaking to flower guy, but appears to be addressing the bouquet of flowers which seem to have a horrible fascination for him.

“I was hoping to catch up with a friend. He left pretty abruptly the last time I saw him and I thought I might have upset him.”

JD somehow manages to go even paler.

_What? What the hell is going on?_

JD abruptly walks over to flower guy and mutters something to him, which sounds very much like “can we talk outside, please?”.

What? No, what are you doing, don’t go and talk to that asshole.

“Clarice, what are you doing?” I snap at him. He glances over and shakes his head at me, clearly trying to get me to shut up. I narrow my eyes at his retreating back and yell after him:

“Don’t put out for those flowers, they look cheap!”

Oh my God, what is wrong with me?

\- - - - -

“Wow, what is that guy’s problem?” Jack asks me. I shrug.

“Depression, alcoholism, massive narcissism… take your pick.”

“Why is he obsessed with gogo dancers?”

“What?” I frown at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, go down there.” I point towards an alley which looks sufficiently secluded from anyone from Sacred Heart walking into us.

“Why are you trying to get me into an alley?” Jack grins at me. “What are you thinking?”

“Not that, just come on, please.”

“Are you not out at work?”

I don’t answer and he rolls his eyes. “Geez, this is the problem with bi guys. You have no idea what you want.”

“I know that I want you to go into that alley and stop waving those flowers around.”

Once Jack has finally gone into the alley I follow him, sigh and then lean against the wall, closing my eyes. Oh God, what a mess, I really did not need this today.

I open my eyes to see Jack looking at me with what seems like concern on his face. Oh God, I don’t need that either. Don’t be _nice_ to me, please, I don’t think I can cope with it.

“Are you alright?” _Aaargh._

“I’m fine, I just wasn’t expecting that. Why did you show up at my work?”

“Well, you told me you worked there and it was all I really knew about you. I was hoping to see you.”

He's looking at me with big puppy eyes and I try to convince myself that this is cute and not mildly stalkerish. Jack is a normal guy, not a stalker, I can’t have attracted another really messed up guy, right? I’m like catnip to these people…

“Look, I’m sorry that I left without saying anything. I freaked out a bit and… and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Oh, that’s lame. Even by my standards, that’s _really_ lame.

“I was worried about you.”

_Aaargh._

“I’m fine. I’m just… really busy at work right now.”

“You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine. I’m a doctor, I know when I’m sick.”

“You keep saying you’re fine.”

“Yes, because _I am_.”

“People who are fine don’t generally have really amazing sex and then vanish during the night.”

_Really amazing? Was I really amazing? Or is he talking about himself?_

“Look, I really am sorry about that. I felt very ashamed of myself for doing it. I… wasn’t really thinking about how it might feel for you. I’m sorry, I’m a selfish asshole.”

Jack narrows his eyes slightly. “Yes, you are. Look, can we go and get a drink or something, rather than hiding in this alley like we’re doing something illicit? I kind of stopped hiding who I was when I was a teenager.”

“I’m _really_ tired, I’ve just come off shift and all I want to do is go home.” This is honestly true, I just want to go to sleep.

“Well, maybe we could talk at your’s?”

I stiffen slightly. Is this normal? Won’t this guy just get the hint?

“I’m sorry, I’m really not feeling up to it.”

Jack’s expression flickers and I’m briefly worried he might punch me.

“See, this is why I was worried about you. What, was I just some sort of _experiment_ to you? A bit of fun and you could go on pretending that you were straight?”

Oh, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck. Now I feel guilty and horrible and like a massive bastard.

“Look, I’m going through some stuff right now and-“

“Whatever, JD. I think you should just grow up and stop using people.”

I flinch. “I didn’t mean to-“

“Whatever.”

He’s started to walk away. Part of me wants to call after him to stop and that we should talk and maybe I should give him my cell number so we can discuss it later. But then what, I’d probably just ignore his calls and continue being a guilty, horrible, massive, using bastard. It’s probably kinder to let him see that now rather than later. Part of me also wants to yell back “hey, asshole, I was _raped_ you know, cut me some fucking slack” but even that small part of me knows that it’s a shit excuse. Ignoring how my actions could affect others would make me like Steve and I am _not_ like him.

I drop my head into my hands and slide down the wall. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not, _I am not_.

“That really was _superb_ Newbie. I mean, flower guy was being creepy, but you managed to properly put him down with that total lack of any kind of backbone.”

I stay with my head in my hands. This _cannot_ be happening, he did _not_ follow us out here and listen in on a really private and possibly incriminating conversation. He can’t have done, absolutely not, even if it is totally consistent to all the other times he’s completely inappropriately spied on me over the last year.

I can hear him moving around (great, _now_ I can hear him) and stay with my head in my hands, hoping that this is all some horrible dream and I’m in the on call room. Steve will appear soon, riding a gigantic Chihuahua and carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers.

I’m trembling. God, stop it, man up…

I hear Doctor Cox stop in front of me and then feel the air move. I’m pretty sure he’s crouched down in front of me and is at eye level if I choose to open my eyes. I don’t choose to.

“Go away.” I force out between gritted teeth. I can feel a horrible, inevitable rush of adrenaline and rage wash over me, likely caused by the argument with Jack and then the really unpleasant realization that Doctor Cox must have heard most of (if not all) of the conversation.

“He’s thrown the flowers into a trash can, Newbie, you’ve really blown your chances there.”

I snarl and pull my hands away from my eyes to glare at him. “I suppose you think this is really _funny_?”

He looks at me with an odd expression. “Not particularly.”

I stare at him for a second and then shake my head slowly. “I can’t deal with you right now. Or him, or anything.” I start to leverage myself back up from where I’ve slumped down against the wall. Doctor Cox leans over to pull me upright.

Which causes the building rage to be suddenly released as I furiously spit “ _Don’t touch me_ ” at him with venomous intensity. He steps back a pace and I feel my jaw seize up as my teeth lock together and fury runs through me. I try helplessly to stop it.

“Calm down, Newbie. No one’s going to hurt you.” He’s put his hands up, trying to placate me. My teeth remain clamped together, my jaw aching from the tension as I try to keep myself under control.

“I know that.” I grind out. “Please _back off_ so I can point that out to my subconscious.”

Surprisingly he does so and I stand and pant to myself and then close my eyes and try to center myself again. Meadow meadow meadow…

After a minute or so I manage to get my breathing back under control. I am exhausted, I need to go _home_. I say as much to Doctor Cox, who has been standing and apparently watching me get my temper under control with interest.

“I thought you were just saying that to get Captain Handsome to leave.”

“No, I wasn’t, although yeah, I didn’t particularly want to have a heart to heart with him.” I sigh.

“You do look like shit, Newbie. What’s up?”

I stare at him bleakly. He finches at my expression.

“Alright, so maybe that was a stupid question. Are you sure you should go home and be alone when you feel like that?”

I shrug half-heartedly. No, I probably shouldn’t, but I probably shouldn’t be with people either. If only it were possible to not be alone, but also not be around anyone.

“Why don’t we go and get a drink somewhere? You look like you need one and I sure as hell do.”

I stiffen slightly. “Not around here.” I try not to obviously glance in the direction that Jack left in, suspecting that he’s gone somewhere around here to get drunk and possibly bitch about me.

Doctor Cox looks at me thoughtfully. “We can go to a bar near my apartment. Absolutely no gogo dancers there, I promise.”

I roll my eyes at him. “That’s getting old.”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

\- - - - -

To my surprise, JD doesn’t ask for an appletini or anything equally girly, just orders a beer. I wonder if he’s trying not to embarrass me since we’re near home, but then dismiss that; when has he ever cared about being embarrassing before?

I order a scotch and watch him sipping his beer for a while. It’s really hard not to just spit out what’s on my mind, but I’m not sure how he’ll take it. Or that I want to know the answer.

In the end I down two scotches while he’s still nursing his beer and decide that hell, I’ll just ask it and deploy a girl’s name so he doesn’t pick up how much it’s bothering me.

“Hey, Nancy, did you sleep with that guy?”

He looks at me balefully for a moment, then stares at his beer again.

“Technically, no.”

I frown. What the hell does that mean?

“I’m not asking about technicalities. Just it sure as hell sounded like you did.”

He grimaces and then leans against the bar, propping himself up with his elbows. “Like I said, technically no, I didn’t _sleep_ with him. As I’m sure you heard, I kind of ran out after the sex.”

He’s not looking at me and is flinching slightly. What, is he expecting me to – what? Yell at him? Hit him?

“Why do you look like you just ran my Porsche into a tree?”

He glances up at me in surprise and then suddenly – miraculously – he grins. It’s one of the first genuine grins I’ve seen on him in a long time.

“Like you’d let me near it.”

“In this scenario you’ve somehow stolen the keys and gotten into it without my knowledge.”

“You don’t even let people touch the radio.”

I lightly cuff the back of his head. “If you’d sank as much cash as I did into that car then you’d feel the same. I doubt your little _bike_ broke the bank.”

He looks wounded. “Don’t speak about the Aprilia like that, he’s badass.”

“He? Wasn’t your scooter a girl?”

He smirks at me. “See? I knew you paid attention to what I said.”

“Only the same way I pay attention to annoying insects buzzing around my ears.”

“Bzz.” He sniggers and takes a swig of beer.

I nudge him slightly. “Why did you look so worried then, Newbie?”

The grin vanishes as quickly as it appeared and he sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t exactly make a habit of that, you know? He was right… in a way. It was sort of an experiment.”

He looks despondently at the bar, then glances back up at me with a defensive expression. “It’s not like I’m – I’m not a-“

His face clouds over and an odd look of shame and pain briefly flits over it before he manages to shut his expression down.

“I didn’t say you were anything.” I say quietly.

“No, _you_ didn’t…”

I’m not following, but then maybe I’m not supposed to. I’m somehow on my fourth scotch by now and feel like I should possibly be reading something into what he’s saying, but I’m starting to lack the clarity to do so. Also, ever since I met that annoying bastard ( _Jack?_ ) earlier and saw him with JD in the alley I’ve felt like I’ve eaten a bad clam.

In an attempt to stop the weird, shut down expression on his face I move slightly closer to him so my arm’s pressed against his. Interestingly, it does seem to have an affect on both him and the clam.

“Thanks… for not… being you about that.”

“Thanks for not being me? I’m hurt.”

“Maybe I should have spoken with him or given him my number or something?”

The clam has come back and brought friends. I glare at the bar and order another scotch.

“Maybe you should consult Cosmo about that, Patricia. I can’t comment on your girlish problems.”

“I just feel like an asshole about it. And… ugh.” He scrubs a hand across his face. “I have not had a good couple weeks.”

“Well, forget about it and drink that.” I gesture at his beer. “You honestly drink like a teenaged girl. I’m on my fifth.”

“Your fifth?!”

“Yeah.”

“Uh. You really should slow down.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’m _fine_ , Denise.”

\- - - - -

Oh God. How did I get into this situation?

Oh yeah, I went drinking with Doctor Cox. Like I haven’t learnt anything. In my life. Ever.

At least he hasn’t destroyed anything. Although I’m not sure he could stand up long enough to trash any workplaces right now. Is this how bad he was when I was sick? Why did nobody do anything about it?

“Oh my _God_ , you’re heavy.” I grunt, trying to drag his arm back over my shoulder as I maneuver him down the street. He appears to actually take note of this and be offended by it.

“We can’t allllll be wiry lil bast’ds, Newb.”

Great. Extra consonants and missing ones too.

“You’re on shift tomorrow.” I snap at him. “How are you going to manage that?”

He shrugs and then pulls himself upright and staggers forwards a few steps before colliding headlong into a wall.

I sigh and try again to get his arm over my shoulder after initially considering for a few seconds whether to just leave him in the street. Actually, it may have been more like a minute or so as I tried to figure out how likely he was to get murdered if I just left him here.

So much for my plan to just go home and sleep. I manage to pin his hand against my shoulder so he can’t shrug me off and face plant again and continue to awkwardly walk like a crab down the street, tugging him along behind me. Like a boat, like I’m one of those little tug boats and he’s a massive cargo vessel that’s determined to plow into another ship. Or land. Or just sink.

I try and daydream the scenario, but weirdly just think about the Titanic with Doctor Cox’s face on it, which is horrifying.

Am I the iceberg then?

Anyway, I’ve weird crab-walked him to his apartment building and am attempting to pour him into the elevator, with limited success. I’ve not been here that often and can’t really remember which floor he’s on. Asking him gets the response of “buttons”, which is really not helpful. So I just point him at the panel in the hope that he’ll press the right floor.

Success!

Possibly out of unconscious habit, Doctor Cox is able to get to the apartment door, but then appears utterly unable to comprehend that he needs his keys to get in. He walks into the door a couple times, then looks incredibly annoyed by it’s presence.

“Where are your keys?”

He glances at me, shrugs and attempts to walk through the door again.

“No… you need the key to open the door, where is the key? The key, the – oh God. You should not drink this much, we should stage an intervention.”

“Ugh, y’ve been speakin’ to Gandhi, right?”

I frown at him. “Well, yes, he’s my best friend.”

Doctor Cox makes an incredibly derisive noise. “D’s he kno about y’r gogo d’nc’r frien’?”

“What? Where is the key?”

“…Pocket…”

“Which pocket?”

He attempts to reach into his pants pocket and fails. I sigh and slide my hand in as quickly as possible to retrieve the key.

“H’nds off the goods, Newbie.”

“Yeah, right.”

I open the door and then get his arm back over my shoulder and continue to crab walk him inside, kicking the door shut behind us and dumping the key on the coffee table. Doctor Cox is rather woozily looking around the apartment, leaning pretty heavily against me.

“Right, well I’m just going to deposit you on the couch and then get going, don’t drink any paint stripper while I’m gone…”

I pirouette us towards the couch and attempt to gently shove him onto it. At which point he catches my arm, resulting in him falling back onto the couch and pulling me with him so that I land on top of him.

I freeze. For a couple reasons, one is that he’s still holding onto my arm and it’s the bad one, the one with WORTHLESS cut into it. It doesn’t hurt any more, but I’m not big on anyone touching it, it makes me uncomfortable. The other reason is that he’s staring up at me intensely and I’m unpleasantly aware that I’m essentially straddling him. I’m staring back at him wide-eyed, thoroughly earning my "Bambi" nickname.

I try to pull my arm free but his hand’s like a vise. His other hand is behind my neck, I can feel it hovering there but he’s not quite touching me. And he’s continuing to stare up at me intensely and now his hand is on my neck, stroking down my spine, being surprisingly gentle. I feel my eyelids flicker slightly at the touch and he strokes a finger up, gently grazing behind my ear. I can’t help it; I close my eyes and my lips part at the sensation.

And suddenly his lips are against mine. Warm, firm pressure, no tongue, just the press of his lips against mine and I’m responding, kissing him back, cupping his face with the hand he’s not holding immobilized, working my lips against his, feeling warmth pooling down into my stomach and at my neck where his hand continues to gently massage my skin-

Wait, what the hell? No no NO, STOP.

I pull away abruptly; he tries to hold me in place initially, but when I push back with more force he lets go. I reverse away from him, panting slightly. What? What the hell?

He groans and sits up on the couch, watching me and looking irritated.

“What’s wrong, Shanon? Why’re you bein’ such a tease?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped.

“What?”

“Oh, come on.” He makes a face. “What? You’ll put out f’r flower guy, but not-“

“Stop it!” I sound incredibly shrill, but I could care less.

He continues to stare at me blearily and I realize just how out of it he is. His eyes keep glazing over and he seems on the verge of passing out. I glance around and scurry into his bedroom to retrieve a blanket and drop it over him. He groans again and pulls it over his head.

I hear him mutter something and have the incredibly uncomfortable feeling he may have just said “why him and not me?”.

I stare at the shape under the blanket for a moment and then I do my speciality move. I run out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for whatever reason this was my favourite chapter to write so far, probably because of the amount of JD/Cox banter.
> 
> Incidentally, Jack was never going to hit JD or anything similar, that's more demonstrating JD's mindset. Poor Jack... (although he is being slightly creepy)


	11. 11. My Aftermath

I wake up with The Fear.

I’m not sure if The Fear is a well-known phenomenon or whether it’s just something I’ve concocted, but it’s definitely real. To explain; The Fear is when you wake up and you know you did something goddamn awful when drunk. You just can’t quite place your finger on what it was.

The Fear usually has two outcomes. Either you remember what you did that gave you The Fear or it remains unknown and you have to try and work out what it was by asking acquaintances (because, let’s face it, they probably aren’t your friends any more).

On this occasion, it’s the former. I wake up, register The Fear, try to remember what caused it and then the memory comes flooding back.

I cover my eyes and groan. Oh God. I… I didn’t? I didn’t…. kiss JD and then insult him when he tried to get away?

I groan again, feeling it’s not eloquent enough to fully express the horror and gut-wrenching shame I feel. Nausea floods through me and a cold sweat has broken out over my body. I have no idea whether that’s the hangover or a reaction to what I did. Or both.

Oh God.

_Oh God._

I fumble for my cellphone and glance at it. 0545. No messages.

That’s… that’s not good. He should have sent something - laughing at me for getting into such a state or a pissed message telling me what an asshole I am. But of course, he hasn’t sent anything. Because I terrified him.

I remember his expression, seeing it as clearly as if my thinking of him has managed to conjure him back up in front of me. His scared, betrayed, pained expression.

I retch and just about get to the bathroom in time.

\- - - - -

I can’t look myself in the eye. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself, something I feel so infrequently that it’s a pretty alien emotion to me. Even my reflection is disgusted by what I did.

It’s not that I hit on a _guy_ ; if I’m honest, that doesn’t bother me. Which is quite surprising in itself, but maybe I’ve called JD a girl so often that I’ve managed to confuse my own sexuality.

It’s… it’s how clumsy and... just plain shitty I was. I’m not the greatest romantic in the world or a famous Casanova, but hell, I’d like to think if I try to seduce someone I don’t just… well, get incredibly drunk and then try to jump them on the couch. Then insult them when they (unsurprisingly) aren’t impressed.

I mean, I think I initially remember him kissing me back, but maybe I invented that? Even if I didn’t, he did _not_ want it after a few seconds.

I guess I probably need to address the fact that flower guy ( _not_ calling him Jack) made me jealous. And I did know that it was jealousy. Overhearing them in the alleyway and realizing that JD had screwed him… made me feel like I’d been kicked in the balls, to be honest. I’d tried to choke the feeling down, tried to ignore it, but part of me had really wanted to yell at him. Scream that I’d been there for him, that I’d shown so damn much that I cared for him, that all I wanted was to be close to him and know he was safe – so why did he do that? Why did he do that _with someone else_?

And I couldn’t stop thinking like that. And so I tried to drown the thoughts. And look where _that_ got me.

I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to label it as platonic (even though I know some of it definitely is _not_ platonic, you don’t platonically notice someone’s ass and start to get hard from it, not unless you have some real fucked up friendships). And I’ve been able to deal with it, because I knew that even if I was ready to admit to myself that yes, I am sexually attracted to him and yeah, I also just want to be close to him, even if I _could_ admit that to myself – then he was not available. He wasn’t interested in guys and even if he did have the same platonic-but-really-not-platonic feelings towards me that I did towards him then he couldn’t _act_ on them. He’s a rape survivor, he’s got PTSD, of course he can’t.

So to hear that actually he could act on those kind of feelings but just didn’t with me… had not been good.

I should not have drunk anything. I should not have been with JD last night, I knew what I’d heard had fundamentally shaken me, but he had seemed vulnerable and upset and… and I’d wanted to make him feel better. Right, I wasn’t trying to take advantage of that. Right?

Had I noticed these feelings before Gourley told me he saw the way I looked at JD? I’m desperately hoping that I had, but I can’t remember. Him pointing it out before I noticed somehow makes it seem… impure. I really hope that I did register it before he said that, even if I ignored it.

I manage to look myself in the eye in the mirror. I look miserable and pathetic.

I mean, what is _wrong_ with me? I sure as shit didn’t have to think about this kind of stuff before Gourley happened, JD was my annoying colleague who kept trying to make me his mentor. Yes, I was actually pretty fond of him in reality and yes, he meant something to me, but I didn’t have to worry about whether I _liked_ him or not, it didn’t even occur to me. And then he went missing and I realized what a difference he did make to my life. And then I saw him after that bastard had hurt him so bad and I was furious, wanted to make sure he stayed safe, wanted to be close to him, to _protect_ him. And at some point that seemed to turn into something else.

And I noticed his eyes and his body and his goofy-ass smile (or noticed it usually wasn’t there) and stopped finding him annoying and gawky and started finding him… cute. Hell, on a couple of occasions I’ve even thought he was beautiful, usually when I’ve not been checking my thoughts properly.

I remember thinking he looked beautiful last night when he grumpily dropped me on the couch whilst bitching about how heavy I was.

Do I feel like this because he was a victim? Is that some sort of sick, fucked up kink that utter bastards can develop?

I shudder. I hate the thought of him being hurt, _hate_ thinking about what happened to him. But it changed how I looked at him and now… now… oh _God._

\- - - - -

I very seriously consider calling in to Sacred Heart sick. But unless I actually relocate (and I suspect Bob has told all hospital administrators in the state that I’m an uppity bastard who can’t be managed) then I’ll have to go in _eventually_ and see him and be awkward and try to apologize (or maybe just insult him again because, hey, it’s me). So I man up and go in for my shift.

Of course, it didn’t occur to me that _he_ might not man up and come in. Little bastard.

After a tense couple hours of him being conspicuously absent and my overreacting to everyone in blue scrubs, I sidle up to Carla.

“Hey, Carla, where’s Monica? Did she oversleep again?”

Carla gives me her particularly disgusted look that she reserves for every time I call JD by a girl’s name. Right, like _Bambi_ is somehow less demeaning. I mean, arguably Carla is being very anti-feminist by assuming it means something negative.

“JD swapped shifts with Elliot.”

“Oh.” I can’t think of much else to say to that.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Didn’t you know?”

“No. I did not.”

“Considering last time he didn’t come in you sent him around five text messages in an hour then how come you don’t just ask him?” I glance at her nervously. Was it that obvious? “Has something happened?”

Carla has clearly scented gossip, I can practically see her ears prick up.

“No. No, nothing has _happened_.” I grimace at her. “Like you said, last time it was nothing. And this time it’s nothing. And… yeah, nothing happened.”

I said “nothing” too much and I damn well know I’m looking shifty.

“What did you do?” She sounds resigned, assuming I did something terrible. She’s right.

“Oh, my God, nothing. I did not do anything. Sorry for checking whether your gal-pal was alright, since y’know, last time she went missing it wasn’t the best time for any of us.” I start to walk off and then turn back. “You know, I am sort of responsible for him, so it would be _nice_ if someone mentioned to me when he decides he needs to go skipping off to the mall or… or whatever.”

Oh shit, my ability to deliver pithy rants seems to have deserted me. I’m getting stared at by a pretty large proportion of the medical staff. Carla shrugs at me.

“Then tell him.”

I narrow my eyes at her and then stalk off, trying to ignore hearing her say to a neighboring nurse “he _definitely_ did something”.

Shit.

\- - - - -

Barbie, surprisingly, is not hiding in a supply closet. I didn’t actually realize there were so many of them in the hospital until I tried to track her down. It’s presumably why she uses them to hide in and I have a kind of grudging respect for that sort of appropriate use of resources.

I eventually find her with a patient, where she is doing her usual weird, slightly inhuman form of doctor-patient interaction. I swear, icebergs have a warmer bedside manner than her.

Since I need to ask her something I suspect calling her “Barbie” in front a patient won’t help my cause. So I hang around in the periphery of her vision trying to catch her attention. She glances at me and hisses “What?”.

I mouth “I need to talk to you” at her. She rolls her eyes at me and jerks her head, beckoning me over.

“What do you need, Doctor Cox?” She demands loudly, rolling her eyes at her patient like I’m some annoying intern bugging her for advice.

“I need to ask you something.” I mutter.

“Then ask me like a professional doctor.” She mutters back.

“What?”

Oh, great, she’s standing there looking smug. Oh, goddamn everything…

“I need your advice on something, Doctor Reid.” I snarl through gritted teeth.

She smiles at me indulgently, then turns back to her patient. “Sorry, this is _always_ happening, I’ll be right back.”

We walk into the corridor and I round on her.

“How very professional.” I snap.

“Oh, like you haven’t humiliated all of us way worse than that. Anyway, what do you want?”

I’m strongly tempted not to ask her, but I’ve already demeaned myself now so I may as well not do it for nothing.

“Where’s Delilah today?” I ask, knowing I sound sulky.

“Delilah?”

I roll my eyes. “JD, _obviously_. Or would you prefer I call him Doctor Dorian?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s obvious you’re talking about him when you call him Delilah.” She pulls a face. “He’d probably prefer it if you called him Doctor Dorian.”

What does that mean? Has he told her?

“He’s not in today.”

“I _know_ he’s not in today, I noticed. Carla said he switched shifts with you.”

“Yeah, he did.”

He can’t have told her, she’d have hit me with something by now. I stare at her expectantly. When she doesn’t say anything else I prompt “ _Why_ did he switch shifts with you?” letting the exasperation seep into my voice.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, he didn’t mention it. He messaged me really early this morning asking if I’d cover for him.”

Oh, that’s not good.

“He didn’t say anything else?”

“No. Why, did you do something?”

Oh God, she’s just as bad as Carla, she sounds eager to hear some gossip of me doing something awful. I roll my eyes at her.

“Why does everyone assume I did something?”

“Uh, because we _know_ you?”

I open my mouth to retort when I hear a “Perry” from behind me, interrupting me. Barbie’s eyes widen slightly and I hiss “run Barbie” at her, before turning around.

“Bob.”

“Delighted as I am that you have actually shown up and appear to be functional, Perry, I asked you to see Mr Kettleburn this morning and I have not had any reports of your ass being in that room.”

Oh. Yeah, I forgot about that.

“I’ve been dealing with actual medical issues, Bob-Cat, I’ll go there later.”

“Yes, I’ve been hearing about that. Gossiping with the nurses and now Doctor Reid.” I glance around for her, but she has surprisingly taken my advice and made herself scarce.

“Personnel issues.” I reply. Bob looks utterly unconvinced.

“Whatever, Perry. Kettleburn is the nephew of a member of the board. If I don’t get reports of you squeezing your enormous ego into his room and spending an appropriate time diagnosing him – and being _polite_ – then the next ten impacted patients are going to you.”

He stalks off.

“Great.” I say, to no one in particular.

\- - - - -

So, I’ve avoided the prospect of spending the next few weeks disimpacting everyone I meet (although, damn, Kettleburn was _boring._ I think fecal matter would genuinely make better conversation). I have also avoided actually being able to speak with JD, which I’m having mixed feelings about. On one hand, I really did not want to have to talk to him about what happened last night (or this morning, depending on how you look at these kind of things). But on the other hand, I feel shitty for what I did and want to talk to him. I want to check he’s alright.

There’s nothing from him on my cell. I’m sat in my Porsche staring at it, wondering if I should message him. Or go to his house?

I sigh. I definitely should take the hint and _not_ go find him. My showing up when he hasn’t expected it hasn’t exactly gone down well for either of us over the last few weeks.

I could send flowers? I remember his expression at the bouquet yesterday and snort to myself. Maybe not. A greetings card? Can you get an “I’m sorry I got really drunk, hit on you and then called you a tease” greetings card? That seems very specific and I doubt there’s much of a market for it. Other than assholes like me, of course, but maybe just a generic “I’m sorry for being an asshole” card would be more saleable.

The only message I can think to send would just be “Are you okay?” and he presumably _is_ okay (physically anyway) because I’d have heard otherwise if he wasn’t. So me sending that would just be me trying to make myself feel better. So I should probably just leave him alone.

I drive home and stare at the scotch. Then, pointedly, I go and pour the half empty bottle down the sink and grimace at it. Maybe I should have paid attention to Gandhi’s AA leaflets.

I mean, there is more scotch in the apartment, but I’m going with baby steps here.

Feeling slightly lost, I go shower, then shave and change into jeans and a football jersey. Then sit on the couch and glare at nothing for a while before checking my cell. Nothing. I grunt and then order a pizza and put on a sports channel.

About thirty minutes later when the guy knocks at the door I’m checking my cash and pull the door open, frowning down at my wallet. “Do you have change for a thirty?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond I glance up and then pause. JD’s standing in front of me, wearing his motorcycle leathers, his hair mussed up and an anxious expression on his face. I open my mouth to say something – I have no idea what – and he stops me.

By kissing me.

I’m initially pretty unresponsive, partly because I am not actually sure that this is happening. It’s pretty unusual for leather-clad young men to just show up at my door and kiss me without saying a word. This definitely feels like I’ve somehow slipped into someone else’s life.

But it’s _him_ and he smells like leather and fresh air and tastes slightly like mint chewing gum. And this time he’s kissing me, not awkwardly responding but properly kissing me, his full lips soft and demanding on mine. And I wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer, hearing the creak of the leather and the slight sigh he makes when I gently flick my tongue across his lips.

“I… I think I’m at the wrong apartment.”

A slightly shell-shocked looking pizza delivery guy is standing staring at us. I roll my eyes at him, grab the pizza box, shove the thirty dollars at him (I don’t need the change, _fuck_ the change) and say “thanks, genius” as I propel JD into the apartment and slam the door behind us.

“Do you think he thought I was a kissogram?”

JD looks flushed, his lips and cheeks overly pink. He seems amused and slightly embarrassed, a sort of awkward half grin on his face. I stare at him for a second and then grunt “I don’t care”, before pinning him back up against the other side of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squeeeeee.
> 
> Random plot point: JD’s hair is mussed up because of his motorcycle helmet, but also because he’s been standing outside the door for ten minutes trying to build up the nerve to talk and anxiously running his hands through his hair as he does so.
> 
> I want to patent the “I’m sorry for being an asshole” greetings card, I think it would be massively saleable.


	12. 12. My Pizza Buddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut and more Cox-POV.
> 
> Also, I wrote this entire chapter and then realised that Scrubs had already done that whole pizza analogy thing, but it had gotten sort of cemented in my head by that time and I couldn't think of anything else to call it. This chapter is actually considerably less depressing than that episode of Scrubs (a pretty unusual event in the My Captive Audience saga).

“Your pizza will be getting cold.” He pants against my lips when we pause for breath.

“Don’t care,” I mutter again, nuzzling into his neck, smelling the leather and “unisex” body wash and his own particular scent underneath both. I inhale. He smells slightly like peaches. “Anyway, someone sent me a leather-bound kissogram, I want to unwrap it.”

He giggles slightly, but my brain just caught up with what my stupid mouth said and I stiffen slightly and then pull myself away. He looks confused and kind of bereft for a moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Say what?”

“The…” I grimace awkwardly. “The thing about unwrapping you. Sorry, that’s… that’s kinda presumptuous and… and not really appropriate…”

He’s still looking confused and flushed, his pupils dilated and looking huge. Goddamn it, he looks really hot, he needs to stop that, I need to think with my brain here, last night indicated pretty strongly that I’m using other organs to make assessments around him and look how _that_ turned out.

“Not appropriate?” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I didn’t realize I was in a PG-13 movie. Are you not gonna take the leathers off? Only I’m not wearing anything underneath and it’s getting kinda uncomfortable.”

I think my brain just exploded. Or imploded. Or dissolved.

He looks at my expression and then bursts out laughing. “Relax, that was a joke.” He makes a serious face. “Otherwise that would be against the highway code.”

I collapse onto the couch. “Jesus Christ, Newbie, I think you just gave me an aneurysm.”

“Sorry. You did kind of deserve that though.”

“No arguments there.” I watch him shrug out of his leather jacket and am mildly relieved to see that he’s wearing a long-sleeved pale gray T shirt underneath. My cock notices that it’s quite close fitting and I look away.

“Do you want any pizza?”

He frowns at me. “I thought you didn’t care if it got cold? What type is it?” He’s still standing awkwardly, half out of the leathers that I had been enthusiastically trying to get into a few moments ago.

“Pepperoni.”

“Ew.”

“I suppose you like pineapple on pizza?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I do, actually. Incidentally, are you going to finish the unwrapping or should I do it myself?”

My mouth goes dry and I helplessly stare at him for a second. He makes a frustrated noise and then heads into my bathroom, emerging a minute later carrying the leather pants and boots. He appears to be wearing black running pants underneath.

“Is that lycra, Newbie?”

“You are kind of limited in what you can wear under these.” He shrugs. “The other options look a bit like long johns, so count yourself lucky I’m not wearing them.” He slumps down next to me on the couch and grimaces at the pizza.

“I’m flattered. Should I order you a Hawaiian?”

“No,” he mutters, then a minute later quietly says “yes”.

“Which one are you going with there, Sheila?”

“Yes. I’m hungry and apparently you’re being ‘appropriate’.”

He sounds disdainful. I’m unsure if he meant that as a double entendre and don’t feel courageous enough to ask, so just call and order for him. We both then stare at the TV for a few minutes. I'm confused (and slightly horrified) that I'm really not all that interested in how the Red Wings are doing right now and am hyper-aware of him sat next to me instead. Newbie clearly doesn't actually have a clue what's happening in the game and is visibly trying to work up the nerve to talk to me. He finally takes a deep breath ( _atta boy, you grew a pair_ ) and speaks.

“You know, it kind of took a lot of… I had to kind of…” he frowns at his lack of eloquence and tries again. “It took quite a lot of courage for me to come and… and do _that_.” He gestures at the door. “Am I seriously now going to sit and watch you eat cold pepperoni pizza and pretend to watch a sports game?”

He sounds pissed. Little ingrate, I just ordered an unholy pizza for him.

He’s sat with his legs crossed in an almost meditative pose, his hands hooked over his knees in an oddly defensive gesture. It’s a sharp contrast to my own graceless sprawl that I managed on here last night. Oh, yeah, that.

“Look, I…” I glance at him, trying to figure out how he’s feeling. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Oh, that.”

“That was totally out of order of me.”

He nods. I frown.

“Look, I don’t apologize much Newbie, some response would be helpful to see how I’m doing.”

“You’re doing okay.”

I glare at him. “Look, I am sorry, alright?”

“You sound it.” He says bleakly.

“I am.” I try to sound less pissed. “I got stupidly drunk. It’s a crap excuse, but it’s all I really have as an excuse. My only defense is that seeing you and Boy Wonder together kind of threw me. But I still… shouldn’t have said what I said. That was inexcusable.”

He has an odd expression on his face. “What are you sorry for?”

“I just said-“

“Are you sorry that you kissed me? Or that you-“

“I’m sorry that I didn’t immediately let go when you clearly wanted me to. I’m sorry that I had to get that drunk that it affected my judgement that badly. I’m sorry I called you names.”

There’s a pause and he’s not looking at me; he’s pulled his sleeves up over his wrists and is staring down at his hands. “So… you aren’t sorry that you kissed me?”

Oh, that’s what’s bothering him. I sigh. “I’m sorry I did it like that. I’m sorry that I wasn’t considerate of your… needs.”

He frowns and looks up at me. “What do you mean, my needs?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on, JD. I may not be the most sensitive guy, but even I know that someone who’s… been through what you’ve been through probably should… take things slow?”

“Shouldn’t I decide that?” He gestures at the door again. “Wasn’t that an indication of the speed that works for me?”

“Right, because where have you been all day? Are you claiming that last night didn’t freak you out?”

“I’m not saying it didn’t… I was out riding. It clears my head.”

“Must be difficult, with all the marshmallow fluff in there.”

He gives a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, right. Well, once that had gone I could think about it…”

“I frightened you.” I feel the shame again, gnawing at my stomach.

He shrugs and looks at me lop-sidedly. “Yeah, you did. But most things frighten me now; people I don’t know, people I _do_ know, sudden noises, unlocked doors… pennies…”

I frown. What?

“... But I figure that I can’t do much about that, all I can really do is control how I _react_ to the fear. And I run away too much.” He sighs. “But if I actually _want_ something… maybe it’s worth being scared sometimes.”

I look at him for a few moments as he stares back guilelessly with clear blue eyes.

“Are you saying that you want this? You and me?”

JD’s response is interrupted by a knock at the door again. “I swear, I hate this pizza firm now.” I inform him and go retrieve his abomination, noticing with amusement that it’s the same guy from before who is studiously not looking inside the apartment, presumably thinking there’s some sort of gay leather orgy going on inside.

I pass him the Hawaiian, to which he responds with “Yes”. It takes me a moment to backtrack in the conversation and stop thinking about handlebar mustaches to figure out what he means.

He appears to be reading the pizza box. I initially think it’s another one of his displacement activities he does when nervous, like playing with his sleeves earlier, but he looks quite annoyed as he’s doing it.

“Where’s the ingredient list?”

“What?”

“The ingredient list.” He enunciates like I’m an idiot. “That says what’s in it.”

“It’s a pizza, Sami, it’s pretty straightforward. Are you worried about allergies or something?”

“No,” he mutters, continuing to glare at the box like it’s personally offended him.

“Just eat the goddamn pizza.”

He ignores me and lifts it above his head to read the base. “Oh, there it is.”

“Congratulations, you now know what’s in a Hawaiian pizza. Does it say anything about infernality?”

He glances at me and then puts the pizza back into his lap and flips the box open. He sighs before selecting a slice.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way. I know how I look.”

He says it almost conversationally, lightly, before taking a bite out of the slice. I frown at him.

“Did my actions last night and… just now… not show you what I want?”

He swallows. “You were drunk last night. And I kind of surprised you earlier. Sorry, if I hadn’t just done it I’d have lost the nerve.”

“JD, I want to do it again now, even though you’ve got a mouthful of what I can only describe as the foodstuff of the devil.”

He chokes slightly.

“See, that’s what you get for eating that.”

“But you _stopped_.”

Ah, there’s his old whiney tone.

“Yes, I stopped. Because I don’t want to go into this faster than we can deal with. _Either_ of us.” I add when I see him bristle at that. “Being with a guy isn’t exactly something I’m familiar with, remember?”

“I thought I was a girl?”

“Are you being this whiney intentionally to try to force me to shut you up?”

He smirks. “It’s not something I’m that familiar with either.”

“Yes, I always thought you identified solely as a lesbian.”

“Fuck off,” he says mildly. “The idea that I might be bi is pretty new. Therapy.”

“Your therapist told you to screw a guy?”

“No… my therapist suggested I think about my sexuality based on some comments made during therapy. I just decided to… er, ace my homework assignment.”

I stare at him. He looks awkward. “Don’t-“

“That’s _incredibly_ stupid-“

“I know! I know!” He raises his hands as if in surrender. “Believe me, Craig has already pointed that and _I_ have pointed it out to myself. I don’t need another lecture.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why Boy Wonder was so pissed with you? He thought it was more?”

“It was just a random bar hook up, I don’t know what he was expecting.” JD mutters.

“Are you saying you’re a bar skank, Felicity?”

He glares at me. I can’t help it; I start laughing.

“Oh, shut up.”

I try to stop and manage to choke down my laughter, although he can still hear it in my voice. “Well, I’m not bi, I’m pretty sure I’m straight.”

“Right, because I’m a girl?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean… generally speaking, I don’t find guys attractive.” I shrug. “Just you.”

His reaction is… actually, quite adorable. He briefly looks flattered and then slightly freaked out. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah, this is totally weird, Newbie.”

“And you’re still going to call me that?”

“Yep.”

“And the girl’s names?”

“Of course.”

“Great, thanks, _Perry_.”

“Yeah, that is actually my name, Samantha.”

“ _Percival_.”

“Also, yes-“

“ _Percival Ulysses_.”

“Yeah, stop that.”

He smirks at me again. I reach over and trail a hand through his hair, watching his eyes narrow slightly at the sensation.

“Hurry up and eat that godless pizza.”

\- - - - -

My second attempt at kissing JD on the couch goes considerably better than the first time did. We’ve managed to recreate the same position, with him on top of me, but this time I’m not pinning his arm down and his legs have tangled with mine. My arms are wrapped around his back, pressing him close against me and because he’s wearing those ridiculous lycra pants and a thin top he may as well be naked.

And this time he’s kissing me back hard, his tongue exploring my mouth, one of his hands resting against my neck, the other under my shirt. He’s a surprisingly handsy little bastard.

All in all, it’s a much more agreeable situation, even if he does taste a bit like pizza and pineapple still.

I sit up slightly, elicitating a complaining groan from him.

“Alright, Nancy, my ass is going to sleep in that position.”

I kiss his forehead and watch him wriggle around to try to get comfortable again, moving to straddle my hips and keep his balance. The wriggling is having a pretty noticeable affect on my already painfully erect cock, something I’m sure he’s aware of. As an attempt at payback I stare rather critically at his crotch, since the lycra leaves very little to the imagination.

“Did you even consider putting boxers on there, Newbie?”

“What, wear underwear and the lycra and the leathers?” He pulls a face. “I’m pretty sure that would cook my junk on a hot day.”

“Charming. Should I ask you to go shower?”

“I said on a hot day. It’s cold and raining out, if you didn’t notice.”

“So you just decided to let it all hang out?”

He shrugs.

The conversation has kind of drawn my attention to the fact I have no idea what the next step is. JD’s been considerably more proactive than me, having his hands all over me in the last ten or so minutes. He’s unexpectedly sexually aggressive, something that I’m finding a real turn on. I’m just not sure what he’s comfortable with and what I should do.

I’m not sure what _I’m_ comfortable with, to be honest. It’s one thing to admit to yourself that you happen to find one guy sexually attractive, it’s a totally different ball game (hah) to actually act on that. I could jerk him off, I guess, since I’m definitely practiced in that.

“You okay?”

I realize that I’ve essentially been frowning at his cock for a few minutes and he’s looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, sure.” I sit up further and kiss him quickly. “Just trying to figure out what to do next.”

“You could actually touch me? I’m not fragile, you know.”

There’s the same undercurrent of annoyance and melancholy in his voice that I heard earlier.

“I know it must be frustrating, I just…” I swallow. “I _really_ don’t want to do anything that might hurt you or freak you out. I’ve already done that once in the last 24 hours.”

“Yes, and I really don’t want you to think of me like… I don’t know, something breakable. That doesn’t help, it makes it worse.” He sounds bleak.

I pull him closer and cup his chin in my hand, forcing him to look into my eyes. The sadness I see there stabs at me. “That’s not how I think of you. I told you, I’m not used to this. You’re going to have to be patient with me.” I kiss him softly.

“Tease,” he mutters against my lips.

“Greedy skank,” I mutter back, making him laugh.

“What were you saying about being charming again?”

“Hey, I said you weren’t, I never said I was.” I wrap an arm tightly around his waist and then stand up from the couch, dragging him up with me. “Come on, I’m too old to be fooling around here.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot how _old_ you are.”

“Thanks. I reiterate my point about your charm or lack thereof.”

I shove him gently towards the bedroom as he grins at me. I pull off my shirt as I follow him through the door and dump it on the floor, reaching out for him. Then I notice his expression and all the bravado of earlier seems to have gone, he’s wide-eyed and clutching his arms protectively around himself.

“Do… do you mind if I keep this on?”

The lack of confidence in his voice and his expression nearly break my heart. I think about his earlier comment; _“I know what I look like”_ and the old fury runs through me again. I try to keep my expression clear.

“I know what you look like.”

“Yeah, so you don’t want to _see_ that.” It might be a trick of the light, but I’m pretty sure there’s a watery sheen to his eyes. “Why would you want to be reminded of that?”

I move closer and wrap my arms around him. “I want to see you.”

He blanches slightly and then gives a slightly venomous glance at my torso. “No you don’t. I’m not _perfect_ like you.”

I have to resist the habitual urge to gloat or preen in response to that.

“I do,” I say it softly and run a hand through his hair. “I want to try something.”

He looks at me suspiciously. “What?”

I slide a hand under his shirt and run a finger along where I know one of the old injuries is on his stomach. He makes a quiet gasping noise in response.

“Scar tissue is often more sensitive than regular skin,” I murmur into his ear.

I feel a fine tremor run through him. His voice is strained as he replies.

“But… but I’m hideous…”

“No, you aren’t. Not to me.”

He sighs and then pulls the T shirt off abruptly, his face averted away from his own body. I push him gently back onto the bed and pounce on top of him. 

He’s gone tense and I want to coax the old JD back, the one who was being sassy at me on the couch. I kiss him, trailing my hand down his body. Although not particularly muscular, there’s a leanness to him that I find really sexy, the flat planes of his chest and stomach firm to the touch but still yielding to some pressure.

I stroke my hands over him for a while, trying to convince his body to relax again. It seems to work, at least partially; he starts to respond more fervently, although without the confidence and slight aggressiveness he was displaying earlier in the evening. I kiss my way down his neck, listening to the strangled noise of arousal he makes in response. I move to one of the scars he has on his chest and gently lick it. He sighs in response and then gasps as I exhale onto the damp flesh.

“How does that feel?” I ask him, letting the smug self-congratulation seep into my voice. He groans and shoves my head back down, which I take as a positive endorsement.

He has a similar response to the other scar on his chest and the one on his stomach, He seems too self-conscious to let me try with the scars on his wrists and I know not to try with the scars on his forearm, so just kiss the scar on his palm before working my way back up to his lips. As I get there and kiss him hard and reach down and gently stroke his cock through the lycra.

He bucks up against me and gasps, his eyes flying open, looking dazed and incredibly turned on. I grin at him, propping myself up with one arm and reach down to palm his cock again. He moans and rolls his eyes to look up at me in a slightly helpless way.

“Would you be mad if I made you come in your pants?” I ask him conversationally.

“Take off your damn jeans,” he groans in response.

“You’re such a lazy bastard.” I tell him and then stand up to strip off the jeans, leaving my boxers on. I check that seeing me nearly naked hasn’t had any adverse affect on him and am smugly pleased to see that he looks how I felt earlier when he told me he was naked under his leathers.

He seems to have remembered how to move again when I rejoin him on the bed and springs at me, rolling me onto my back. I growl at him and he grins and he emulates my earlier move by kissing his way down my chest. I guess since he doesn’t have the “scar tissue being sensitive” ploy (I’m honestly not sure if that’s true or not, but it seemed to have a placebo effect if not) he spends an excessive amount of time on my nipples, until I’m bucking up against him. God, I don’t ever remember being this hard before, I doubt I’m going to last much longer.

JD is less shy than I am, simply shoving his hand down the front of my boxers and firmly stroking my cock. Oh _God_ , there was me thinking that I was being subtle somehow by avoiding skin to skin contact, it was clearly lost on him.

Shit, I am actually going to come soon, particularly if he keeps that up.

“Hey, JD.”

He looks over at me, his blue eyes looking almost inky black, his pupils are so dilated.

“I am not going to last with you doing that…”

“That’s the plan.” He grins at me.

“Yeah, I was thinking of something slightly more mutual than that.”

I catch his hips and pull him flush against me so our erections are ground together, him on top. I notice his eyes cloud over as I do so and realize how close he is as well.

“Are you going to take the damn lycra off or do you want me to rip it off you?”

“I’ll take it off,” he looks dazed. I ignore him and jerk it down over his hips to halfway down his thighs. His cock springs free, heavy, flushed and leaking.

I feel a responsive twitch from my own cock at the sight of this and how aroused he looks, breathing heavily, flushed and his pants bunched around his thighs. I efficiently shove my boxers down to release my own cock and rut up against him.

“Oh,” he says softly, the dazed, aroused expression still on his face.

Since JD seems to have briefly gone into some sort of sex coma I wrap a hand around both of our cocks and give an experimental thrust. Oh. _Oh_. I thought I might need some lube or something, but there’s enough sweat and precome that we almost glide against one another. I can feel his cock throbbing against mine and he lets out another soft groan and then reaches down and wraps both his hands around us, starting up a firm rhythm.

“Oh, God, yes, JD.” I growl at him and begin to thrust up hard against him in counterpart to his hands, gently holding onto his hips to keep him from losing his balance.

I don’t last much longer, coming with a shout, spattering come all over his hand and myself. He follows a few seconds later with a soft sigh and hot pulses over my stomach, having to catch himself with one hand against my chest as he orgasms, despite my anchoring him by his hips. I watch the expression on his face as comes, an odd combination of elation and tiredness. I can feel him trembling and slide my hands up to his sides up to steady him.

“You alright?” I ask quietly. He nods and collapses down next to me on the bed. I wrap an arm around him.

I can feel the pretty standard urge to fall asleep stealing over me, but I have a pretty copious amount of semen all over my stomach and chest and lever myself up. I really don’t want to wake up crusted in that. JD looks at me sleepily. I gesture at myself.

“I think I should quickly get into the shower, if you want to join me?”

“’M alright.” He mutters. “Just have a sticky hand.” He blinks blearily. “I should get going.”

I frown at him. “You look exhausted. Stay here.”

He looks dubious. “I don’t sleep well…”

I’m not convinced by that, he looks like he’s about to fall asleep in the middle of the conversation. “Well, rest while I’m showering.”

He nods.

Whilst I efficiently shower off I think about his earlier comment about how much courage it had taken him to come over here and link it to how tired he seemed when we finished. Although I’m pretty sure the sass and aggressiveness were him genuinely being himself for once, it clearly used up a lot of nervous energy.

I’m not surprised at all when I get back that he’s out like a light, although he has managed to kick the lycra pants the rest of the way off whilst I’ve been showering. I smirk when I see that he has fallen asleep with his apparently "sticky" hand outstretched away from his body. Prissy little thing.

I consider him thoughtfully. I’ve no idea why I generally refer to him as little, he’s about as tall as me (depending on whether you include hair as part of someone’s height) and he’s quite broad shouldered for such a lanky bastard. I glance at his cock; yeah, none of him is really all that little.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t react much to my moving him so I can get the bedsheet over him, apart from sleepily muttering something into my shoulder and clinging onto me briefly. I sprawl onto my back next to him and wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He snuggles up against me and lets out a loud sigh before apparently falling back into a deep sleep.

I kiss the top of his head and, contrary to my usual complaints regarding cuddling after sex, feel weirdly content considering that was, in essence, a joint masturbation session.

I notice before falling asleep that he’s put his “sticky” hand on me.

“Little bastard.”


	13. 13. My Performance Anxiety

The last thing I remember is feeling exhausted and resigned to another night where I get a maximum of around 30 minutes sleep.

So I’m incredibly confused when I wake up on my own to see sunlight pouring in through the window and smell the rich aroma of coffee.

_What?_

I stare blankly at the window for a moment. Then I glance at my cell, like it has any answers. It doesn’t. I frown at it, trying to remember which shift I switched with Elliot yesterday. I’m pretty certain I don’t need to go to the hospital today, but it would give a convenient excuse-

Oh God, am I trying to run away already? I gulp to myself and look over to the door when I hear a clatter from somewhere else in the apartment. Doctor C- Per – _he_ is clearly doing something in the kitchen, presumably making coffee from what I can smell.

How come I could sleep? I mean, admittedly it only happened with Jack that one time, but it seemed pretty conclusive that sleeping with someone – literally sleeping with someone – was off the cards, that I couldn’t relax enough, presumably due to my broken subconscious. So how come I must have slept a good solid eight hours last night? And I actually feel refreshed, unlike most mornings.

_Maybe because my subconscious trusts him?_

I drop my head into my hands. Oh God. I can feel that I’m on the verge of going into hysterics here, _why_ did I do this with a colleague, not just a colleague, with _him_?

What if it goes wrong? With my track record that seems almost certain.

Then what?

What, then no longer feeling safe with _anyone_ because the person I could relax most with and feel most secure with I jumped into bed with and… and… argh.

We didn’t even have sex either, I possibly just totally screwed up my relationship with my mentor for a hand job.

I mean, it was a pretty awesome hand job, but still…

I cringe slightly, remembering that I came all over him last night. Although he didn’t seem to mind, I mean, he’s a doctor, he’s used to being covered in bodily fluids anyway…

Although I wouldn’t have liked it. I shudder, the thought of feeling that again making me nauseous. Definitely something to avoid.

I shiver and nestle back into the bedding, feeling acutely aware of being naked. I don’t usually sleep like this, I’m too likely to accidentally look at my arm or wrists. I try to remember where I put my shirt last night and spot it at the foot of the bed. Hah, right.

I’ve got my shirt back on and am trying to struggle back into the lycra pants when Doctor – Per – argh (Doctor Pepper?) comes back into the bedroom carrying a coffee. He glances at me and smirks.

“Smooth, Sandra. Bet you’re regretting going commando now.”

I “eep’ in response and shoot back under the bedcovers. He sits on the edge of the bed and prods me.

“Do you want coffee? Or some boxers? Or both?”

I struggle up onto my elbows, trying to look as calm and collected as is possible when you’re not wearing pants and having to resort to a bedsheet to keep your modesty. I brush my hair back from my face; one of the problems of having longer hair is that it constantly appears to be making an effort to get into your mouth/eyes/nose.

“Thanks.”

He hands me a black coffee, which I stare into despondently.

“Have you got any creamer?”

“How gracious. No, Betsy, I haven’t got any creamer because I don’t drink it. Since you gave no indication that you were planning on dropping by I didn’t think to have a load of girly paraphernalia and sugary crap in my house.”

I try not to think about the bottle of scotch that I have hidden in a cupboard in my house.

“Oh. Sorry.” I sip it, focusing hard on not grimacing. Yucky.

He goes to retrieve a pair of boxers and throws them at me, hitting me squarely in the face.

“Ow. Are you always like this in the morning?”

I put the coffee onto the bedside table and wriggle into the boxers. He gives me an appraising look.

“Hey, I’m in a _great_ mood. I’ve never had sex where I didn’t have to talk afterwards. You didn’t even want to be spooned, it was very unexpected.”

I blush and then slurp some of the coffee as something to do. I then choke on it and he rolls his eyes at me.

“Are you always this awkward in the morning?”

“You have _met_ me, right? Of course I am.”

“I’m assuming you trying to drown yourself with coffee means you don’t want to talk about last night?”

“I don’t… _not_ want to talk about it. I just don’t really want to talk about it.”

He stares at me critically. “Very eloquent, Daphne. Let’s keep it simple then; do you want to do it again?”

I shrug. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, so I quickly squeak out “I mean, yes, I do, just-“

“That was why I said to keep it simple, let’s not bother with the ‘justs’ right now.”

He relaxes on the bed next to me, lacing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. I frown at him. “Are you going to get dressed?”

He cracks open an eye to look at me. “I’m in my own apartment. And I am dressed.’

I continue to frown at him. “You’re only wearing underwear.”

“Yes, last I checked underwear counted as clothing. Stop looking at me like that. You look like some dowager in one of those British period dramas.”

He closes his eyes again while I sit and drink the coffee and think about what he just said for a couple minutes.

“Anyway, we didn’t have sex.”

“What was that, Dame Maggie?”

“I said that we didn’t have sex.”

He opens his eyes and looks at me like I’ve gone crazy. “Maybe I’m misremembering, but pretty sure I had to _shower off_ the sex, Newbie.”

“That’s… I mean, we didn’t…” I helplessly gesticulate and nearly throw coffee down myself. He closes his eyes again, possibly to avoid getting coffee in them.

“Still counts, Lady Mary. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be that keen to get down to full penetrative-”

“Lady Mary wasn’t a dowager,” I snap at him, desperate to end that particular conversation.

“Good God, Shirley, I mean, I saw them last night but I _still_ don’t actually believe that you have testicles.”

I glare at him and then finish my coffee. I’m trying not to stare at him sprawled out next to me, topless, since it’s seems to be of interest to my morning erection and I don’t want to encourage this.

“Going to shower,” I mutter, hopping out the bed. He opens one eye again.

“Want company?”

“No.”

How does he not get that I don’t like being seen naked? How can he still want to see me naked, didn’t he get enough of the freak show last night?

I kick the door closed, lock it and pee. As I flush I’m distracted by the shower, which seems to have around 6 billion different dials and looks like it could control a spaceship. I stare at it blankly before swilling some mouthwash, staring at myself in the mirror as I do so. My hair’s standing on end a bit and I look more alert and healthier than I have in… well, probably around a year. The stomach-churning sensation from the morning after having sex with Jack is completely absent. I split out the mouthwash and then frown at myself in the mirror. I then experimentally take my shirt off.

Nope, that still looks _awful_. Although, the feeling of his lips and tongue and breath on the scars last night… oh, I have to stop thinking about that, I don’t want to have to jack off in the shower. I shove at my erection, trying to will it to go away.

There’s a knock at the door. I hurriedly pull my shirt back on and half open the door to look at him suspiciously, blocking my lower body and so the sight of my annoyingly persistent erection from him.

“Want a hand?”

All the blood that’s not in my cock seems to have just gone into my face. He can’t _know,_ right? Well, if he didn’t know before, he definitely does now. He’s grinning at me.

“With the shower,” he continues casually, despite the ridiculous, knowing grin on his face. “It’s got different settings and isn’t always that obvious for-“

Oh, fuck it. I grab him and pull him into the bathroom. And we’re suddenly locked together, him lifting me up onto the sink, me wrapping my legs around his waist, his hands under my shirt and on my back, my hands in his hair, teeth clashing in a kiss that’s nearly violent. I can’t breathe, can’t think, just need him.

And, thank God, he’s not being so careful like he was last night. He’s running his hands down my back, cupping my ass and kneading it hard. I moan hungrily into his mouth and link my ankles behind him, pulling him closer, his stomach pressed against my cock. I can feel the hard, flat planes of it and drop a hand down from his hair to slide it down his abs. I groan again and he breaks the kiss, pulling me down off the sink. I feel slightly lost without his lips on mine and barely register him stripping my shirt off and then pulling the boxers down, before he spins me back around to face the mirror, standing close behind me - oh, _God_ , I can feel his cock pressing against my thigh and he’s rock hard – and then wrapping a hand around my aching erection.

I gasp and turn to look at him, but he catches hold of me and presses himself harder against me, pinning me in place as he strokes my swollen, heated flesh.

“Look at yourself.” He growls at me, his voice several octaves lower than usual. I meet his eyes in the mirror, slightly confused, before doing as he tells me and looking at myself. I look ridiculously turned on, flushed and panting. He rewards me by flicking a thumb over my cock head and I jerk against him in response.

“You are not hideous. _Nothing_ about you is hideous.” He murmurs into my ear, moving to gently kiss my neck and continuing to watch me watch myself. I feel his other hand move to his cock and start to move on it in the same rhythm as he’s stroking me.

He moves on from my neck and starts to kiss and lick his way along the scars on my back and then gently exhale on them, the way he was doing to my chest last night. I make a choked noise at the back of my throat, seeing the mirror JD’s eyes flutter in response to the sensation.

I reach over to the soap dispenser and pump a handful into my palm before reaching back and wrapping my hand around his cock to copy his rhythm. He groans against my back in response and then grabs my ass with his now-free hand, lifting his head back up to continue kissing my neck and shoulders, watching me in the mirror. I meet his eyes and squeeze his cock slightly, watching his eyes roll in response.

Oh God, this is intense. I can’t keep looking in the mirror and tip my head back against his shoulder, feeling hot stabs of pleasure pooling low in my stomach. He kisses me hard and then kisses down my throat, pausing from stroking me to reach over for the soap and then – oh, _God_ , his hand is sliding back on me and it’s smooth and slippery and hot and… and… and…

I’m shaking and so close. I force my eyes open to look at him and his expression – his smouldering, turned on, slightly awed expression – is enough to push me over the edge. I groan and allow my head to fall back against his shoulder as I come hard, my breath hitching. I keep the rhythm as best as I can on him, despite the great shuddering pulses running through me. He moans “oh, fuck, JD” before promptly coming all over my thigh and ass.

He’s leaning on me heavily, breathing like he’s just run a race, still pinning me against the sink. He kisses my sweaty hair and glances down in front of us.

“Oh, look, you came in the sink. How well house-trained you are.”

I shift against him, feeling the hot sticky mess on me start to run down my thigh.

“Huh. Can’t say the same for you.”

“Payback’s a bitch, Newbie, you did come all over me last night.” He kisses my neck and then releases me to turn the shower on behind us. I reel slightly and follow him into the cubicle and the hot, steamy water. He pulls me flush against him and kisses me under the stream of water.

“Hey, JD, how many times can you-“

“No, we are _not_ trying to do that again so soon.”

Turns out I can do it three times in a row.

\- - - - -

When I eventually get home (the leathers seemed to trigger a repeat performance of the shower incident and I had to make a run for it) it’s early evening and I collapse exhaustedly onto my couch. I turn the TV on and stare at it for a few minutes before heaving myself back upright to go and heat the eggplant pasta bake I made the other night. I lean against the kitchen counter while I wait for it to heat up and notice that I’ve got a message from Dan.

_Heyyyy lil brother. Want to catch up tonight?_

I frown, remembering seeing how I looked in the mirror earlier. I have really obvious sex hair, even after it’s been flattened by the helmet and I looked flushed and… well, pretty obviously like I’d spent the last 24 hours having a series of spectacular orgasms. Four, to be precise.

So, in short, talking to Dan tonight is not a good idea. He’s got a better sex detector than most (the day after I lost my virginity he just looked at me and then asked how disappointing she had found it) and would almost certainly pick up on my slightly glazed, stupidly grinning expression.

_Been on shift for twelve hours, need to get some rest. Tomorrow?_

I retrieve the pasta bake from the oven and dish it out into one of the pasta bowls, leaning against the counter and shoveling it down, suddenly starving. My phone beeps.

_I need dowager advice; would “Your Majesty” count? I’m worried someone might misinterpret it and think I’m somehow flattering you._

I snort.

_I really doubt anyone will ever misinterpret you enough to think you aren’t insulting me. Anyway, what would you be saying in front of anyone?_

I’ve eaten the entire pasta bake. Damn, orgasms = munchies. I go and start making a caramel latte, but rush back to my phone as it beeps again. I then feel disappointed (and then like a massive girl) when it’s a reply from Dan.

_I thought you weren’t working today? Tomorrow works for me, 8?_

Well, he’s been way more attentive to my work shifts than I realized. Another thing to thank Steve for.

_Yeah, I had to swap shifts with Elliot. She slept in._ (God, I hope he doesn’t check.) _8 sounds good._

_LOL, classic Elliot._

I stare at my phone. LOL? Seriously?

I manage to complete the caramel latte before my phone bleeps again and I hurry back, seeing the response flash up on my alerts tab.

_Possibly “The shower is now blocked, does Your Majesty have any good drain cleaner that is effective against large quantities of semen?”_

I choke on my latte.

_I told you we shouldn’t have done it twice in the shower, don’t blame me._

I’m about to hit send and then realize that the screen is still open on my conversation with Dan. Damn, good call, that would have been disastrous. I change the recipient, send it and then take my laptop upstairs to my bedroom.

I’ve realized I have no excuses about not throwing that party any more so should probably do some research into recipes for dinner parties. After googling “a sophisticated soirée”, “a desirable dinner” and “a sensational supper” I figure that Perry possibly has a point about me being an aristocratic old lady. I eventually fall asleep after getting way too interested in some articles about bunting and table runners.

I wake up two hours later, realizing that I called him Perry. And fall back asleep with a goofy grin on my face.

\- - - - -

“Hey, Bambi, you’re looking… happy.’

I jump slightly, pulled out of my daydreaming by Carla and Turk sitting opposite me in the cafeteria.

“Yeah, dude, you’re looking like you did before-”

“Turk!” Carla elbows him.

“Sorry, I was just… er…” I realize I have no reason whatsoever to be sat daydreaming in the cafeteria with a massive grin on my face. Well, apart from the real reason.

‘I was, er, thinking about buying a girlfriend for Rowdy.”

“JD! Rowdy’s a player, don’t tie him down!”

“Oh, am I ‘tying you down’, Turk?”

“Turk! Don’t answer that! It’s a trap!” I hiss.

Carla rolls her eyes at me. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be in today?”

“Oh, I’m covering Elliot’s shift.” I tell her as I fork salad into my mouth. I have been so hungry lately, apparently having multiple orgasms requires quite a lot of food to maintain the energy levels required.

“Alright, Bambi, slow down before you choke.”

“Oh, I meant to say, are you guys free next week for my grand house reveal?”

Carla squeals, whilst Turk looks slightly bored.

“Is this for your dinner party? Dude, get a keg stand.”

“ _No,_ Turk!” Carla interjects.

“I mean, it’s not going to be anything that sophisticated,” I point out before Carla can raise her expectations above the likely pasta bake I’ll end up cooking. “Although I did buy a table runner last night.”

“Ooh,” she beams. “ _Fancy._ Should we get dressed up?”

Turk glowers at me and I mouth “sorry” at him.

\- - - - -

The stupid grin stays on my face as I ride home. Then widens marginally when I get to my house and see a familiar Porsche parked on the drive.

I dismount, pull my helmet off and hurry over to the driver side window. He’s got it lowered and is sat wearing shades and listening to the radio. He slowly turns his head to me, apparently trying to emphasize how cool and badass he is.

“Hey,” I greet him. “You should have messaged, I’d have tried to get back sooner.”

“I thought I’d surprise you. Look, I even brought a frozen Hawaiian pizza. Incidentally, the ingredients are ‘pizza’ and ‘all the ills in the world’.”

“How long have you been working on that joke?”

“Pretty much since I bought the pizza.” He glances at it on the passenger seat next to him.

“Isn’t it kind of dark and cold to be sitting out here with the window down and wearing shades?”

“Yeah,” he takes them off and grins up at me. “I’m frozen, but I saw how goddamn good I looked like this and figured the impact was worth it.”

He gets out the car and I before I can start obsessing over whether I should hug him hello he kisses my forehead and then retrieves the pizza. He notices me standing frozen on the drive and rolls his eyes at me.

“You need me to open the door for you, Sheila? Are you taking the ‘your majesty’ thing a bit too seriously?”

I quickly reanimate. “Sorry.”

Once we’re inside he wraps his arms around me from behind and nuzzles into my hair. I lean back against him and try not to sigh too obviously.

“How was your day?” I ask him and then promptly feel stupid for asking such a couplesy question.

“Hm,” he kisses my hair and then slumps onto the sofa and grins at me. “I was kinda tired for some reason from yesterday, so mainly spent it sleeping. Oh, and trying to unblock the shower. You were right, we re-heally shouldn’t have done that.”

I grimace. “Yucky.”

“Yucky,” he agrees solemnly. “How about you?”

It takes me a second to realize he isn't asking about my shower drainage situation. “Oh, it was okay. Covering Elliot’s shift was fine, the janitor seems to take time off when he doesn’t think I’m around. I over-excited Carla though, Turk’s probably not going to forgive me.’

“Not that I care about what’s going on between your little friends, but what did you say to Carla? Did you mention that we-?”

“No!” I stare at him, confused. “Obviously not. I just invited them over here next week.”

“Cynthia, are you telling me that you bagged the hot, eligible doctor and _didn’t_ go prattling to your little friends?”

_What?_

“Uh, no, I didn’t. Should I go put that in the oven?” I gesture at the pizza.

He’s making an odd expression that I can’t quite read and follows me over to put it in the oven. As I unwrap the pizza he suddenly speaks up again.

“ _Are_ you going to tell them?”

He sounds almost indignant. I frown at him. “You don’t care what they think.”

“No, Newbie, _I_ don’t care about what they think. But you do.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it, if I’m honest.”

That’s a massive lie. I have thought about it and it’s brought me out in a cold sweat, trying to figure out how everyone would react.

“Bullshit,” he responds flatly. “JD, you care what Ghandi and the rest of the Motley Crue think about what you have for lunch, let alone anything more important.”

Damnit, why did I do this with someone who knows me so well? I sigh. “I thought we were going with the simple stuff for the time being, not the ‘just’s.”

He looks unconvinced. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Of course you don’t.” I put the pizza into the oven and set the timer. “You don’t care what anyone else thinks about what you do.”

“No, I don’t. And you’re too focused on how others think you should be rather than how you actually are.”

He sounds unnervingly like Craig for a moment.

I lean against him for a second and wrap an arm around his waist.

“Please try and see it from my perspective.” I implore quietly. “I don’t know how much they might link this to… to what happened. Or maybe even… I don’t know, think that I somehow _enjoyed_ it.” He makes a noise to interrupt me, but I carry on. “I’m still not in a great place and I don’t really know what I’m doing at the minute. _I_ need to figure it out. I’d rather not have everyone knowing right now.”

He frowns at me. “No one will think that you enjoyed what that bastard did to you. Or that this and Gourley are linked in any way.”

I pull a face at him. He sighs and runs a hand down my arm.

“Fine, but I’m not sneaking around. I’m too old for that shit, Patricia.”

“I’m not asking you to sneak around or hide anything. Just… just can we wait a while?”

“Sure.”

I lean on him for a second longer.

“Do you _really_ not care if they think you’re with a guy?”

He shrugs. “Not really. We are in the twenty-first century, you know.”

“Yeah, but-“

‘Plus, it would _really_ piss off my sister.”

“But what about what all our colleagues think?”

“I have the greatest disdain for what most of our colleagues think, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Easy for you to say. They’ll all just assume you’re fucking me.”

There’s a loaded pause.

“Speaking of which,” I glance up at him. “I’ve got some condoms upstairs if you want to-“

“ _No_ , JD!”

I jerk back from him, wide-eyed. “What?”

He’s looking at me, slightly horrified.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused. “I’m not suggesting that I fuck y-“

“Noooo,” he drawls, the freaked out look still in his eyes. “We are not doing that tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?!”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Hang on, Newbie. You’re telling me that you don’t want to tell anyone that we’re together because _you’re_ not sure where your head’s at and then in the same breath you’re saying that you want me to fuck you? I mean, _do_ you hear the words coming out your mouth?”

Okay, I guess he has a point there. The timer beeps at me and I get the pizza out the oven, trying to think of a response.

“I guess I just don’t see how it’s such a big deal compared to what we’ve already done.”

“For God’s sake, JD, you’re a… you’ve… you’ve got PTSD from…”

“I think ‘rape survivor’ is the generally accepted phrase.”

“Yes, you’re _that._ Are you honestly telling me that you can be so casual about it? Or are you just trying to rush to it to get it over with?” I flinch.

“Is this like you being scared to touch me the other night? I don’t _want_ to be treated like I’m vulnerable or fragile.”

“But you _are._ ” He snaps, then his expression softens when he sees my face crumple. “I just want to make sure you’re ready. And that I’m ready. It’s kind of a big deal for me as well.”

“And you’ll ignore me if I tell you I’m ready?” I ask bitterly.

“No, I’ll listen, but just if you think you’re ready doesn’t mean I am. Quite frankly, JD, the idea of doing that to you terrifies me.”

“What, because I’m such a _victim_?”

“No, JD. Because you were subjected to something terrible. Are you going to slice that pizza or just stand there with it?”

I chuck the pizza onto a board and grab a pizza wheel.

‘It’s not fair that you can just use my real name and win points in an argument.” I point out sulkily.

“Noted.”

“I could do it too. I could call you Perry whenever I’m trying to come across as honest and concerned.”

“Right.”

“Only I don’t because I’m not a manipulative bastard.”

“Oh, shut up Daisy and serve the pizza like a good girl.”

\- - - - -

We’re on my bed making out when the laptop starts to chime from where I left it last night. I frown, halfway through dragging Perry’s shirt off.

“What’s that?”

“It’s your laptop, Erica.” He glances at the screen. “Apparently you have an incoming call from Dan Dorian.”

“Shit, don’t answer that, it’s on video.” I check my watch. “Oh crap, I told him I’d speak to him now.”

“Ignore it?”

“No, if I ignore him he’ll start calling everyone to make sure I’ve not gone missing.”

“Hm.” Perry looks at the screen. “You could just answer it.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll have to. Get behind the bed.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Get behind the bed or you’ll be on the screen. How am I supposed to explain you being in my bedroom?”

“Uh, by telling your brother he interrupted you undressing me?”

“Were you not listening to anything I said earlier?”

“Yeah, you said you weren’t asking me to sneak around or hide.”

“I’m not asking you to sneak around or hide, _just get behind the damn bed_.”

He sighs and then raises his hands in fake surrender before rolling off the bed and lying on his back on the floor, pillowing his head on his arms.

I accept the call.

“Hey Dan.”

“Heyyyyy.”

My brother’s face fills the screen.

“Woah, Dan, I can see right up your nose. Hold the screen at a different angle.”

“It’s not a screen, lil brother, it’s my new phone.”

“Well, hold that at a different angle.”

He moves so that I don’t have two giant nostrils in the center of the screen.

“There. You should probably change your screen too, you have two chins.”

I frown at him.

“Ooh, three now.”

“How are you?” I ask to change the topic. I’m pretty sure I heard a quiet snigger from behind the bed.

“I’m good! I’m looking for a new job.”

“Oh, God, Dan, did you get fired again?”

“It’s not being fired, it’s a difference of opinion.”

“A difference of opinion on what?”

“On what constitutes starting a shift at 9. I still think 9:30 is close enough.”

I sigh.

“Mom’s good. She’s hooked up with some new loser.”

“How is he a loser?”

“He wants me to move out.”

“What a loser.”

“Yeah. I think I might have to get away from here for a bit so he forgets about it. Or they break up, one or the other. How’re you?”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah? Only you didn’t seem okay in your last few messages.”

“Oh. I’ve just been figuring some stuff out. It’s okay.”

“How is your therapy going?”

I perk up. “Good, actually. It’s kinda weird, you have to talk about what happened more than I want to, but it’s supposed to help you process it better.”

“I’m proud of you, lil' brother.”

“Dan,” I grin awkwardly and run a hand through my hair. “That’s… you know we don’t really talk like that. We should just… y’know, fist bump and say ‘cool bro’.”

“No, I really am, JD. Dad would be too.”

Ah, shit, I'm tearing up a bit. “Uh, thanks Dan.”

There’s an awkward silence before we both say “So, gotta get going” and then laugh at each other.

“Good speaking to you, Dan.”

“You too, lil' brother. Tell Elliot she’s still got a fine ass.”

“Yeah, not doing that. Bye.”

I shut the window down and sigh.

“I’m so glad that you aren’t asking me to hide anything.” His voice reaches me from the floor. “I didn’t realize that literally hiding behind a bed whilst you talk to your idiot brother _doesn’t_ count as hiding something.”

He sits up and gives me a fake bright grin.

“Incidentally, I found your condoms under the bed. I don’t have any truck with these flavored varieties, Philippa, I’m old fashioned like that.”

He climbs back onto the bed and glares at me. Just as I’m about to retort a terrible, awful thing happens. From the darkened screen of the laptop floats out a voice:

“Heyyyy, little brother. Why are you arguing about condoms with Coxer?”

I feel the blood all drain from my face as I look back at the screen and realize that I minimized the call rather than closing it down. I stare at Perry, who just shrugs at me.

“Oh, shit.” I say faintly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic music*
> 
> So... "My Captive Audience" was inspired by the episode "My Unicorn" in season 4 (there's a scene with JD chained to a radiator shouting out to "Jerry" that someone will eventually realise he's missing; MCA ended up as a rather twisted version of this. "My Unicorn" also has my favourite Scrubs lines of "what an odd sized explosion" and "do you want to sing about him?""No, never", both of which have made me laugh to the point of crying). So, extrapolating from this, MCA is set sometime after season 4, which should technically be around 2005 but was written in 2008, so meh, let's use some artistic licence and say that MCA is set around 2008, since that's when I originally wrote it. This sets MCP around 2009.
> 
> Anyway, this is a very convoluted way of my admitting that "Downton Abbey" was not around when I've set MCP, but once I wrote Doctor Cox calling JD "Dame Maggie" I couldn't undo it. So... sorry, Downton Abbey fans, it's screwed the timeline up somewhat...
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day!


	14. 14. My Denial

Newbie’s expression would be comical, if he wasn’t clearly so upset.

“JD?” Dan prompts. “What’s going on?”

I glance at JD, who seems to have powered himself down.

“I think your brother’s brain has crashed trying to come up with a suitable lie.”

He reanimates promptly and glares at me.

“Coxer, why are you – what’s going on?”

“Hey, Dan, let’s talk about this later.” Newbie reaches over to properly close the session, but then jumps back as if burnt when Dan sharply responds with “No, Johnny, let’s talk about this now.”

I sigh and move over to sit next to him.

‘Alright,” Dan continues. “What’s going on?”

As it’s really not my place to make this call, I look over at JD. He’s looking lost and then catches my eye, sighs and takes a breath.

“Look, Dan… Doctor Cox and I are… well, we’re kinda… together.”

“What?” Dan’s nostrils look furious. “Is he taking advantage of you?”

“Of course not!” Newbie snaps as I growl. He looks over at me.

“See? I told you people would think the worst.”

“I thought you were referring to people with more than two brain cells.” I reply, glaring at Dan.

“Hey, if I’m worrying about my little brother’s welfare you can’t-“

“Yeah, sure, how much of that is from guilt, Dan? I mean, remind me how long it took you to notice that he’d gone missing first time ‘round?”

Dan opens his mouth to retort, looking furious.

“Don’t,” JD says quietly. Dan and I both pause and look slightly guilty.

“Is this what’s been bothering you, Johnny?”

“No…”

Dan sighs. “Look, this… this worries me. I want to come see you.”

JD grimaces. “Really, you don’t need to be-“

“JD, come on. I just told you I needed to get out of here for a while and it’s not like there’s anything keeping me here right now. I can help you sort out your new place or whatever. And you can tell me in person why I shouldn’t be concerned.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

He says it so softly I’m initially not sure Dan hears him.

“I’m not asking you to. I just want some reassurance that my little brother’s okay.”

“’Kay.”

“I’ll drive up, be there in a couple days. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Right. And Coxy?”

“Yeah?”

“If I find you’ve done _anything_ to hurt him, then you’re answering to me.”

Dan logs out. I stare at the screen for a second.

“Is he definitely gone this time?”

JD nods.

“He’s doing a kind of ultimate cock block, right?”

JD nods again.

I sigh and close the laptop, moving it over to the desk and then wrap my arms around him. He initially doesn’t respond, but then leans his head against my shoulder. I lie us down on the bed and pull him into a tight embrace.

“Shit,” he says again, softly.

“Shit.” I agree.

\- - - - -

Once JD has fallen asleep I carefully disentangle myself from him and go downstairs to where I slung my jacket over the back of one of the chairs earlier. As expected, I have multiple messages and missed calls from Dan, ranging from some surprisingly polite requests to discuss things to downright abuse. I frown at my cell display. God, I need a drink. The refrigerator has a few beers in; further hunting around the kitchen finds various appletini ingredients (good Lord) but little else. I check under the sink and stiffen slightly when I see a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label scotch under there. An odd emotion runs over me and I swallow the slight lump in my throat and leave the bottle where it is. I won’t highlight that I’ve seen that to him, it seems somehow intrusive of me.

I crack open a beer, take a swig, grimace and then call Dan back. He answers on the second ring.

“Finished fucking my brother now?”

Oh, ouch.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I snap back.

“Oh, _I’m_ being ridiculous?” I can hear the fury in his voice. “After I’ve been reporting back to you on what’s he been saying to me, giving you updates on how he’s doing, you’ve – what, used that to manipulate him?”

“I’ve… _no,_ that’s not what happened!”

“I can’t believe I thought you had his best interests at heart, like you haven’t shown often enough that you don’t give a shit.” Dan continues ranting, apparently ignoring what I just said. “So now I’ve been a crappy brother _again_ and not protected him from-“

“Shut up, Dan.” I snarl. “He does not need protecting from me and I’m pretty damn sure that I’ve shown I _do_ give a shit plenty. And, incidentally, I was not _fucking_ him, I’ve spent the last couple hours trying to keep him from having a panic attack. Nice going there.”

There’s a sullen silence at the other end of the line before Dan asks “Where is he now?”

“He’s asleep.”

I take a swig of beer and then massage my temples with my beer-chilled hand. It helps. Slightly.

“How did this happen?” Dan sounds lost.

“I thought you were coming here to discuss that?”

“I mean, neither of you are gay-“

“Oh, just stop there, brother of the year. I’m not discussing the nuances of sexuality at eleven in the evening on my cell with an unemployed bartender.”

“But it’s-“

“Look, it’s… complicated, alright? I thought you were going to discuss it with JD, anyway? Although, God help him, I doubt he’s even ready to think about it himself, let alone speak to you about it. You realize how scared he is that people will judge him?”

“But you’re not?”

I laugh humorlessly, causing Dan to huff in response.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about your tough guy act.”

“Yeah, you did.” I drink some more beer. I’m tempted to add that I care that JD cares about people judging us, but… well, it’s just not me. For some reason, I’d prefer for Dan to think I’m potentially a manipulative bastard than that he might think that I genuinely care about JD.

Yeah, messed up, I know.

“I meant it about you answering to me if you hurt him.”

“I know you did.”

There’s a pause and then Dan says “right” pointlessly.

“Right, well I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you will, Coxy. Don’t expect any more updates from me on him, I think you know _exactly_ what he’s feeling now.”

Dan hangs up. I frown at my cell and then sigh. I honestly hadn’t made the connection that Dan obviously had between his updating me on how JD was doing and our - and whatever this thing between the two of us is. Because, of course, I had asked Dan to report back to me nearly a year ago because I suspected that Newbie was more likely to confide in someone who he didn’t have to see frequently. And I was right.

And now apparently Dan felt like he’s betrayed his brother, on top of the rest of it. I groan and then finish off the beer.

He _hasn’t_ betrayed him though, of course I hadn’t used any of that to try to… engineer anything between us. The thought of it makes me feel queasy.

I drop the empty beer bottle into the trash and go back upstairs. JD is sleeping peacefully, sprawled gracelessly across the bed, still fully dressed. I strip off my shirt and pants and get back onto the bed with him, wrapping my arms back around him and pulling him close. He sleepily presses up against me like a cat asking to be petted. I kiss his forehead and rest my chin on his hair, gently stroking his back until he falls back into a deep sleep.

The idea that someone who knows us both could think that this was somehow manipulative, that it was built on what Gourley had done, that there was something cynical and inherently wrong about it… makes me feel an odd combination of fury and distress. JD has been hurt enough, is it really believable that I would want to use that and add to it? I know I come across as uncaring, but that would make me far worse, would make me monstrous.

And what does it assume JD is, naïve, stupid, infantile? That he’s too trusting, too willing to give himself? Unprompted, I think of the bottle of scotch under the sink and it feels like I’ve been stabbed in the gut.

I hold him against me and close my eyes, silently promising him that it’s not like that, it’s not like that _at all_. That even if he is too trusting and too willing to give himself then he has a massive bastard like me now to destroy anyone who would try to take advantage of that.

\- - - - -

I’m awoken at some godforsaken hour in the morning by Newbie trying to squirm out of my grasp. I release him and groggily look around.

“Wha’s the time?”

“6.”

“6?!”

“Go back to sleep, I’m just going for a run.”

“God’s sake, Janice, come back to bed.”

He pulls a face. “I _really_ need to go, particularly after last night. I’ll be back soon, just go back to sleep.”

I consider offering to go with him but A. no running shoes and B. even if I had running shoes with me, just no. I’m a doctor, I treasure my mornings when I can just stay in bed, damnit. I roll back over and as I’m drifting off I hear him leaving the house.

\- - - - -

I wake up again at 0730 and JD still hasn’t returned. I frown and tiredly lever myself upright from the bed. Is this usual? I’ve never really been a runner, my exercise is usually gym based and focused more on weights than cardio. I glance out the window, noticing that there’s a fine rain. Great, so he’ll be soaked. He really does lack any basic common sense.

I go down to the kitchen and brew some coffee. I investigate the refrigerator with the idea to make us breakfast, but it mainly appears to be full of smoothies and eggplants. I sigh and then pour myself a smoothie and stare out of the window, watching the rain get heavier. I’m just considering whether to drive out to try to track him down when I see him walking back, his hood pulled up and his arms wrapped around himself.

He seems to be limping slightly. I glance at the time; nearly 0800. He’s obviously overdone it, the moron.

My irritation at his inability to take it easy evaporates when he opens the door. I can hear him wheezing slightly with each breath and concern overtakes annoyance. I hurry over. He looks flushed and exhausted.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, sending droplets of water everywhere.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’? You said when you had difficulty breathing you stopped.”

“I do…” He takes a shuddering breath. “I was walking…”

I run my hands through his hair, ignoring the rain and sweat that coat my palms, and gently hook my thumbs under his jaw to fully extend his throat so he can breathe more easily. The slight catch is still there, but less noticeable. He lifts a hand to grasp my forearm, looking up at me as I support his chin. His hand is shaking much more than I’ve seen before.

I hold him in the position until his breathing evens out and then pull him against me and rest my chin on his head. He shudders lightly against me and I run my hands down his back.

“Are you alright?”

“… No…”

“Is it something specific?”

He pulls back and looks at me tiredly. “Dan.”

“Why have you done this to yourself, Newb?”

He sighs. “It usually helps me feel more… controlled. But it didn’t today, no matter how much I ran.”

He cards his hands through his hair, pulling away and grimacing at the sodden state of it.

“Yeah, you’ve soaked my shirt too. Going running in the rain like an idiot.”

“I’ll go shower.”

I’m about to tell him I’ll join him, but then think about what he just said about not feeling controlled. I know it’s important to him to feel like he’s in charge of his space, of his environment. I understand why; it was taken from him pretty damn mercilessly and he’s been desperate to regain it ever since. Me forcing myself into his company when he’s feeling like this won’t help, but maybe if I give him the option…?

“Can I join you?”

He seems surprised by my slightly uncharacteristic question. He looks me in the eye for a moment, then nods tersely.

We go up to the bathroom and he turns on the shower, stripping awkwardly out of his running gear and determinedly not looking at me. The scars bother him, I know they do, but part of me wants to yell at him that they don’t matter, not to me anyway. They only matter insomuch as they bother him.

He walks under the spray of the shower, bracing his hands against the wall and allowing the water to run down his back, his head bowed. The sight is oddly erotic, even though he doesn’t mean it to be and I don’t want to take it that way, knowing how he’s feeling. I quickly shed my clothes and join him. To my surprise he suddenly turns to me and kisses me hard, tangling his hands into my hair and pulling me under the spray with him. I move automatically, my arms wrapping around his waist and kissing him back, hot water streaming over both of us.

The intensity doesn’t last long, his hard, almost angry kisses deepening into more gentle, lingering movements of his lips against mine. I mirror him, softly teasing his full lips with my tongue, lightly running my hands down his spine. It somehow transcends sexual passion and is something else, something more complicated and heartfelt and confused. He stares into my eyes, looking slightly dazed and I stare back at him, knowing I look the same.

“Don’t worry about your brother.” I kiss him softly on the forehead. “Don’t worry about anything.”

He relaxes against me, wrapping his arms around me. I stay stood with him under the flow of hot water, feeling oddly at peace.

Eventually we separate and almost clinically go about the business of washing ourselves, occasionally bumping elbows in the enclosed space. We silently turn off the water, dry off and then return to JD’s bed. He collapses against me, wraps an arm around my chest and nearly immediately falls asleep with his legs tangled with mine. I stay awake, looking at the ceiling and listening to his breathing, reassured that it has returned to normal and no tremors run through his hands.

I frown to myself. Despite the lack of any sex – I don’t think either of us even had an erection – that was one of the more intense experiences of my life. I’m not even sure what it means and don’t necessarily want to think about it.

JD sighs in his sleep and moves his arm, the coverlet on the bed falling back to reveal the scar on his forearm declaring him “worthless”. I briefly think how much it would bother him for that to be on show if he was awake.

I gently pull the sheet back up over his arm and then roll over onto my side to pull the covers up just above his ears, hiding him from view with my body. I press a kiss to his hair, wrap myself around him and fall back to sleep.

\- - - - -

I’m woken a few hours later by my cell alarm blaring angrily into my ear. I groan. JD makes an annoyed noise into my pecs. I crack open an eye and glance over at my cell.

“Turn i’ off.”

I sit up and JD makes a distressed sound and slides off my chest, burrowing back into the bed.

“Stop whining, Princess.” I yawn and stretch. “I’ve got a shift in a couple hours.”

The sheets move and he resurfaces to look at me blearily and blink a few times, his hair standing on end crazily.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Nnnooo…”

JD sighs and fumbles for his own cell, pulling it over to a few inches from his nose to squint at it. He reads something and then winces.

“What’s wrong?”

“Dan’s set off. He should be here tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh.”

He chucks his cell rather moodily back onto the nightstand and slumps back down.

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

“Not that I want to defend your idiot brother, but he is concerned about you.”

“I don’t want him here.”

“Don’t be a mean girl, Sandy.”

“No… I mean, I don’t want a house guest. As well as not wanting Dan here.”

“But you know he’s not going to do anything-“

“Of course I do.” He says it quietly, looking away from me. “I know that. It doesn’t seem to help though, it’s one of the reasons I had to move out of the apartment. It doesn’t matter that I _know_ I’m safe with people, it still… bothers me. I can’t cope with people in my space. I can’t even sleep properly…”

He trails off. I decide not to point out that he’s slept with me in the same bed three times now with no apparent issues and just reach out to place a hand gently on his shoulder. He glances back at me, his blue eyes unguarded and troubled.

“Do you want me to be here when Dan arrives?”

“You’ll be at Sacred Heart.”

I consider asking him if he wants me to change shifts, but decide against it; I don’t want to crowd him and now he’s more awake he seems slightly remote. I don’t want him to worry I think he can’t cope and so just squeeze his shoulder slightly before going to shower.

\- - - - -

I’m glaring at my cell during my break. Nothing from Newbie and no reply from Dan after I sent him a message congratulating him on worrying JD for absolutely no reason. In all likelihood it’s because Dan is driving towards us and Priscilla is just ignoring the outside world. Neither are comforting thoughts.

“Did you find JD?”

I jump slightly and look over to see that Barbie has come into the lounge without my noticing. I frown, trying to remember what my last interaction with her was. Oh, it was about why he had missed his shift. God, that feels a long time ago.

“He’s fine.” I reply, which is A. avoiding directly answering her and B. almost certainly not true.

She frowns at me. “Are _you_ fine?”

I lift my eyebrows at her and stare at her incredulously. She stares back, apparently unmoved.

“Well, are you?” she asks and I am genuinely concerned I’ve lost my touch. That look should have sent anyone running.

Well, if the look doesn’t work then I’ll just torment her until she goes away. It’s the healthy way to deal with all this shit.

“Dan’s coming tomorrow.” I inform her flatly. “Preferably don’t sleep with him, if you can control your ovaries.”

She snorts. “Call yourself an MD? Ovaries control the menstrual cycle, nothing else.”

I am briefly, horribly, unable to answer. All I can think to say is “yucky”, which clearly shows I’ve been spending too much time with Sandra lately.

At my apparent inability to retort she raises her eyebrows, mirroring my earlier gesture. I’m suddenly very tired and I just shrug at her rather helplessly.

“I’d back off there, Barbie. I’m not in the best mood.”

“What’s new there?”

I give her a fake grin and stand up from the couch. “Nothing, obviously. I’m fine, how could I not be?”

“But you-“

“ _I’m fine._ ”

She retreats a couple steps and I realize that I’ve uncharacteristically dropped all the bullshit and likely look as annoyed and frustrated as I actually feel for once. I shake my head at her abruptly, warning her not to keep at it, I can’t deal with this, I can’t deal with _any_ of this.

Which is why I find myself standing on the roof of Sacred Heart, my head in my hands and trying not to scream or hit something or wreck a lab or…

Or what? Or cry?

I stare at my last exchange with JD by text.

_How are you doing?_

_I’m alright._

_Really? I’m so convinced, Newbie. Do you want me to come over later?_

_I think I should be alone, not feeling right. Sorry._

_Ok. Let me know if you need anything._

No response.

This _hurts_ , why does it hurt so much? I ignore the answer to that question, the knowledge that has been bothering me for months now, stamp down on those feelings.

I snarl to myself and then pull my cell out. Fuck all this.

He picks up on the third ring and answers, sounding defensive and furious.

“What do you want, Coxer? Haven’t you done enou-“

“You do _not_ give him a hard time.” I spit, hoping Dan doesn’t respond by engaging in a double entendre worthy of that idiot jock surgeon who insists on spotting me at the gym.

“What?”

“JD. Don’t you dare treat him like shit or make things more difficult for him. If you want to do that then you’re free to come and see me. But don’t do that to him. _Don’t._ ”

“But he’s-“

“Your _little brother_ has been shitting himself because you’ve found out something he wasn’t ready to tell you. Or anyone, hey, maybe not even to admit to himself yet. So don’t go in there and make him feel worse, he’s already re- _heally_ badly affected by you coming. Fine, be concerned, fine, check on him. Be a half decent brother for once. And you want to yell at someone and make them feel shit? Fine, come see me. But leave him alone, Dan.”

There’s a pause. “I’m not going to upset him.”

“You probably are. I get that you’re pissed, Dan. I would be too. But don’t take it out on him.”

“I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“I know.”

“How could you-“

“It’s… it’s more complicated than that, alright? This wasn’t intentional. I know how it looks, particularly with you updating me on him, but there wasn’t some… some insidious plan or anything. It just happened and, honestly, I’m not sure why or how.”

“Are you saying it was a mistake?”

“I’m saying… no, I’m not saying that.”

“Are you saying that you regret it?”

“No, I can’t honestly say that I do.”

“… Are you saying that you love him?”

My throat goes dry. I clear it and then tersely reply with: “Like I said, don’t take it out on him. You got a problem, come to me.”

Then I hang up and drop my head back into my hands.

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

I turn to go back into the hospital and see Barbie standing in the doorway. The look she is giving me is horribly knowing and sympathetic. I ignore it and brush past her.

It’s like she knows the answer to Dan’s question, something I don’t even know the answer to.

Or that’s what I tell myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may remember from “My Green Eyed Monster”, Cox requests a “useful” update from Dan, implying he has been speaking with him about it. Oh, yes, I did actually do planning on this... 
> 
> And JD having a bottle of what is described in the Scrubs Wikipedia as Cox’s favourite drink is not a coincidence (which JD mentioned in an earlier chapter that he totally did NOT buy just in case Doctor Cox stopped by, despite not actually drinking scotch himself). Apparently a theme with me is having characters who appear to actively lie to themselves...
> 
> Yay, Dan, writing Dan is fun.


	15. 15. My Big Brother

I am lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. I feel… weird. Really weird. Like something inside me has switched off somehow.

Dan is supposed to arrive in a couple hours. Perry offered to be here, but I know he had a shift and… and I don’t want him here, for some reason, despite only really feeling relaxed when he’s around. I don’t really want anyone around at the moment, to be honest.

I pick up my cell and message Craig, asking if he can see me tomorrow. I should probably tell him about Perry, although I doubt he’ll be impressed.

After a while I realize I’ve just been staring at my cell’s blank screen and my eyes reflected in it. I sit up and scrub my hands across my eyes. It doesn’t do much to get me back in the moment. I feel like I’m surrounded by marshmallow fluff. It reminds me of being tranquilized back when I was still in recovery. I’m presuming that Perry hasn’t drugged me without my consent, which probably means that this is my brain deciding too much shit has happened for me to process it properly and so has just shut itself down.

Great.

I ache all over. I couldn’t even run this morning, I screwed myself up too much yesterday. My chest still hurts.

God, why am I being so distant? Why am I trying to push everyone away again? Nothing’s happened. Nothing should have changed anything, so why do I feel like this? Why can’t I just stop feeling like this?

My cell chirps at me and I glance down at it. Craig can see me at 5 tomorrow, which will be just after my shift ends. That could work. I message him back to confirm and then stand up and nervously pace around the room.

When this does nothing to lessen my anxiety I clean the house and make up the guest bedroom. Then I change the bedding in my room, suddenly worried that Dan will somehow smell Perry on it. Not that it would matter, since he already knows.

I’m considering going to buy groceries that aren’t just ingredients for pasta bake when the noise of a car door slamming outside makes me jump. Dan must have arrived. My heart suddenly speeds up and I frown. This is a really weird response.

I unbolt the various locks on the front door and look out, trying to ignore how much my hands are shaking again. Dan’s crappy old Ford is outside and he’s pulling an equally crappy looking travel bag out of the back seat. He looks up and sees me at the door, smiles and waves. I wave back awkwardly.

“This is a sweet bachelor pad, lil’ brother!” he yells at me. “Any room in the basement?”

“God, no.” I grin back at him.

“Honestly, you wouldn’t know I was there. Well, apart from the invasive and distressing smell.”

“Ew.”

He has reached the door and, without any hesitation or apparent concern, reaches over and hugs me tightly.

The relief is almost unbearable. Dan is hugging me the way he always did, seeming not to be angry or disgusted or… or any of the reactions that I’d been trying not to think about him having. I hug him back, the soft material of his old hoodie pressed against my face. I bite back the urge to sob.

“I thought you’d be pissed.” I say quietly into his shoulder. He pulls away and gives me an odd look.

“Like I said, I wanted to check on you. I was kinda annoyed, but it’s surprising how much a two day drive can wear that away.”

“Ah. Do you want a coffee or anything?”

“I could drink a beer.”

We go through to the kitchen, with Dan admiring the interior before throwing himself untidily onto the couch. He immediately makes the place look slightly shabby. No wonder Mom wants him to move out.

I crack open a beer and pass it to him. “How’s Mom?”

“She’s good, apart from the whole loser situation. She says hi and when is her genius of a son going to visit her?”

I grimace, both at the whole “genius son” thing (I have no idea what she calls Dan, but doubt it’s that) and the idea of visiting. I sit down on the beanbag with my own beer.

“Does she suspect anything?”

“Nah, she just thinks you’re always working.” Dan shrugs. “I mean, you kinda are anyways. You probably need to tell her at some point though.”

“I have thought about it,” I tell him. “Like, I could say I was attacked and not great for a while. But then she’ll be hurt I didn’t tell her at the time.”

“You aren’t considering telling her the truth?”

“No. I mean, no, how _could_ I? What would that achieve, apart from making her think about it?”

Dan shrugs. “Well, you need to do something. I keep imagine you coming home for Thanksgiving and wearing long sleeves in hundred degree weather.”

_Me trussed up in tin foil with turkey booties on my hair._

_“Hey, guys, I think I’m going over towards well done.”_

There’s a pause and I feel the atmosphere in the room shift as I try to drag myself out of my fantasy and notice that Dan is looking more serious. I studiously look away from him and start peeling the label off my beer bottle.

“Is Coxy gonna be here?”

“Not today.” I frown and then continue: “He offered to be here when you arrived, but I told him not to be.”

I’m not sure what compelled me to do that (and what was that? Me protecting him from Dan thinking he was hiding? Me showing Dan that I could tell Perry what to do and he listened?), but whatever I was trying to achieve seems to have missed the mark. Dan looks annoyed.

“What, did he think I was going to go crazy or something?”

“You were kinda pissed about it, Dan.”

“Well, yeah. How did it even happen, Johnny?”

I shrug. “It just sort of… happened.”

“Yeah, right. It never ‘just sort of happens’, someone always does _something_ to initiate it. Let me guess, Coxy got drunk and-“

“No, it wasn’t like that.” I pause. “Well, he did get drunk at one point.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else from him.”

“Look, he just kinda got… jealous.” I flush, hoping Dan won’t question that. Or notice. Of course, hell would freeze over before my big brother would let me get away with that.

“What was he jealous of, Johnny? Or should I say, _who_ was he jealous of?”

I swear, Dan is enjoying this. I blush more. “That… that’s not important.”

“Who was she?”

I forget myself and glance up at him. He smirks at me.

“Oh my God, it was a dude. You totally boned another dude, didn’t you?”

Apparently I had some blood spare that wasn’t in my face already. I’m pretty certain you could cook an egg on it.

_“Guys I’m now well done and the eggs are hard boiled!” Turkey me yells._

“I’ve been waiting for you to come out since you were a teenager, I have _so_ many gay jokes stored up for this.”

“I’m not gay.” I point out. “I’m bi. Probably not all that bi either, pretty sure I’m generally still more attracted to women.”

“What about Coxy? He’s definitely not feminine.”

“Yeah… it’s… complicated.” I shrug. “I can’t really explain it, it’s more about...” I vaguely fish for words, trying to think of something that sounds a bit less girly than “the connection we have”.

“And the guy you boned?”

“Yeah, well he was quite masculine too…”

“So… you aren’t ‘not all that bi’.”

I blush. “Okay, maybe not…”

“Anyway, you boned another dude and Coxy got jealous?”

“Jealous and drunk. I’m sure you can guess what that led to.”

“Did he make a sloppy drunken pass at you?”

“Yeah. And I ran off.”

“I probably would too.”

“But then I spent some time thinking about it. I knew how I felt about him, that I only really felt properly relaxed and myself when I was with him, that we had a connection… and if I was honest, that there was always something more between us, just neither of us ever acknowledged it. I think if we hadn’t both been pushed into a place where we _had_ to look at it we’d have just kept ignoring it.”

Dan’s looking at me with a surprisingly serious expression on his face. “But you weren’t ignoring it any more?”

“No. I couldn’t any more. So… so I went over to his and I kissed him.”

Dan looks like I’ve slapped him. “ _You_ kissed _him_?”

“Yeah.”

“You initiated it?”

“Yeah.”

“Not him?”

“Oh my God, Dan, _yes_ , I initiated it. Is it that surprising?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Well, I did.”

“And then you two have been screwing like rabbits until I caught you?”

I pull a face. “Hardly.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“This only happened… like, last week? And no, we’ve not... uhm, we haven’t…”

He watches me flounder for a while. “You haven’t had sex?”

“Not properly. He wants to make sure we’re ready.” I roll my eyes.

“What, you haven’t done _anything_?”

“Well, yeah, we’ve done some stuff…” I trail off, uncomfortable discussing it with Dan.

“So, has he got a big dick?”

I jump and look over at him in horror. His “concerned brother” serious face has just cracked into an incredibly lecherous grin.

“Oh my God, Dan, I… I’m not talking about that.” I give him a scandalized look and walk over to the kitchen, hearing him speak quietly behind me.

“I figure he’s either got a huge one or it’s tiny.”

\- - - - -

_How’s it going?_

I glance back at Dan, who’s on his fifth beer since he got here and yelling at the TV. Since we had opted to watch one of those “house transformation” programs I’m not actually sure how he’s managing to yell at it, but seems to be offended by someone’s choice of internal door fittings. It was all linked to him asking if he could do anything around the house, my saying it was all done and him claiming I just needed “inspiration”.

_Alright, I think? He seems relatively cool with it all._

“JD! Who are you messaging?”

“No one.”

“Liar…”

“Do you think you should eat something?” I ask, changing the subject and eyeing his line of empties compared to my own two. “I can order something in.” I somehow don’t think he’ll respond well to the idea of a pasta bake.

“Yeah. Pass me another one of those ol’ beerskies.”

I look at my diminishing supply. “You should take it easy or we’ll run out. I can’t go pick up any more, I’ve had two already and the nearest store is a couple miles away.”

“So send your _boyfriend_ to go get some more.”

He sounds light hearted, jokey, but there’s an odd undercurrent of something. Bitterness, maybe? It makes me uneasy. I open a beer, walk over and pause before passing it to him.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And whatever he is, I wouldn’t ask him to go pick up beers for you.”

“Juuuust joking, lil’ brother.”

He takes the beer and glances up at me from his slumped position on the couch. The grin he gives me doesn’t look quite right. I frown at him, ignore his comment about it giving me a double chin (again) and go hunt out a pizza flier. Since Dan has similar feelings to Perry regarding pineapple on pizza I call and order a large meat feast (will just pick off the pepperoni) and a garlic bread. The flier has a calorie count (wow, it’s like five pasta bakes) so I can calculate it on how many slices I have. Knowing Dan, he’ll eat at least two thirds of the thing anyway. I use ordering as an opportunity to check my cell and reply to Perry’s message from around five minutes ago:

_I know you have teenage hang-ups around this, but your brother has_ never _been even slightly cool._

_I may have spoken too soon, anyway, he’s being a bit of a dick at the minute._

His reply is almost immediate:

_Want me to come over and kick his ass?_

_No. He’s just drunk and a bit weird._

_Understatement. Cut him off?_

I consider asking what he’s doing, seeing as we’re nearly talking in real time he’s replying so quickly. I decide against it, not wanting to be clingy and also not wanting Dan to notice my texting. I shove my cell back into my pocket and join Dan on the couch, watching some poor sap spend millions of dollars on a sliding glass door which covers the entire first floor, only to discover the measurements were wrong.

“I’m not sure this is inspirational, Dan. More horrifying.”

“Learn by their mistakes, maybe?”

“I wouldn’t want a glass wall anyway. No privacy.”

“It’s the _first floor_ , little brother, not the second. All’s anyone would see would be your TV and kitchen.”

“Yeah, still weird. Don’t try and install a glass wall, please.”

He scoffs and glances around. “I was imagining some crappy, beaten up apartment that needs a load of painting, for some reason. This all looks pretty great. Is there actually anything that needs doing?”

Dan likes doing things, it’s how he shows he cares. I try and think of anything. “Uh, I’ll think. You having the car might actually be good, I can’t pick up anything big on the motorcycle.”

As I expected, he looks pleased that he can do something.

“Hey, you’ve not shown it to me yet.”

“It’s in the garage, I’ll show it to you tomorrow morning. I have work, by the way, I’ll be back around seven.”

I’m not sure why I don’t tell him I have counselling; he knows and I’ve been pretty open about the sessions over the ‘phone with him. Probably because that wasn’t face-to-face, it’s somehow harder to discuss this way.

“Okay, cool.” He says, as the doorbell rings. I go to collect the pizza and suddenly remember Perry bringing the soup when he met the delivery guy on the drive. Unbidden, the mental image of him standing at the door with the pizza boxes rises in my mind and I feel a flutter around my stomach at the thought. Could he be outside?

Of course, he isn’t. I feel downcast at the sight of the awkward teenage boy standing at the door and shove the cash to him, the disappointment meaning I give an uncharacteristically crappy tip. My bad mood means I automatically lock all the security bolts on the door which I know looks excessive, so catch Dan looking at me sympathetically. I control my temper enough to avoid throwing the pizza at his head.

\- - - - -

Lying in bed later that night I feel irritated. I’m annoyed at Dan for being here and being fine after I’d built it up in my head that there was going to be some awful argument - then that weird undercurrent I picked up when he was drunk. I’m also annoyed at him and myself that I avoided checking my cell too much (what was I worried about? That he’d start sing-songing “Johnny’s in luuuurrrve” the way he used to when I was a kid? Actually, he probably would). I’m annoyed at Perry for _not_ showing up with the pizza, despite my specifically telling him not to come over.

I’m mostly annoyed at myself for being… well, myself.

I sigh and message Perry back:

_I fed him pizza, it seemed to sober him up a bit._

Reply within less than a minute. Does he _not_ feel self-conscious at that? I always leave at least a couple minutes, so as not to seem too eager. Okay, let’s be honest, I reply immediately, but time a two minute gap between finishing and actually pressing “send”. I’m not sure if my behavior is weird or Perry’s is.

_I feel like I’ve exhausted all of the “pineapple pizza” jokes, so will let you have that one. How are you feeling?_

I bite my lip, considering lying. But he still has laser truth eyes even over text messages, so I decide against it.

_Annoyed. Not as bad as I thought it would be, just irritated. Am going to see Craig tomorrow, hoping that will help._

I think for a minute and then add: _Sorry I’ve been like this the last couple days. I don’t know why it happens._

There’s an unusually long pause from him this time. I absently wonder if he’s timing pressing send.

_Don’t worry about it, JD. I’ll do whatever you need me to._

Ooh, he’s using my actual name in a message. Considering how long it took him to send that, it’s not very long. I consider teasing him about taking ages to compose it, but since he’s actually being quite sweet (for him) I decide against it.

_Thanks. Good night x_

I agonize over the “x” for so long I actually slip and send it when I was about to delete it. I flinch and almost don’t look at the reply that arrives twenty seconds later.

_Good night x_

I may have just “squee”-d like a little girl.

\- - - - -

“It’s kinda… skinny…” says Dan, critically. I bristle in response.

“He’s not skinny, he’s… lean.”

I put a hand defensively on the Aprilia’s side.

“Can I ride pillion?”

“I have a helmet, I’ve not actually had a pillion rider on the Aprilia.” I grimace. “If we corner and fall over then you can’t sue.”

“It’s the American way, lil’ brother.”

“I’m going to work anyway, we can do it later.”

“Nah, I’ll come with you. I want to catch up with Turk.”

I give Dan a measuring look. “Don’t go and annoy Per- er, Doctor Cox, okay?”

“Oh my God, you call him Perry?” Dan smirks.

“Shut up…”

I feel Dan climb onto the motorcycle behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. Ugh, personal space. Ah, okay, yeah, that’s probably why I haven’t tried having anyone pillion on this thing. Although I didn’t ever really do that with Sasha either, discounting that time Perry ambushed me after I ranted at him in front of the interns. Having someone else on the Aprilia means that the weight is all off and I can’t figure out how much to lean into it so I end up driving pretty slowly to Sacred Heart, with Dan occasionally calling me “Nana Hobbs” as a result.

I’m mildly horrified to see that Perry is leaning against the wall by the entrance as I arrive. I was hoping he’d be somewhere out of the way so that the inevitable Dan-Perry showdown could be avoided for a while. I’m not sure if it’s coincidence him being out here or he’s planned it.

I park up and feel Dan tense behind me as he notices Perry. Ugh. I pull off my helmet and take his from him, passing him the spare key for the house before I forget. I’m also hoping it will distract him, but know that’s likely useless. He dismounts abruptly and beelines over to where Perry’s still leaning, so I trail after him awkwardly, feeling even more like a “lil’ brother” than Dan usually makes me feel. Perry straightens up on seeing Dan get close and crosses his arms.

“ _Perry_.”

I flinch. Perry grins and then deploys the nose touch before recrossing his arms. _Aah, Dan, stop it, he’ll destroy you_.

“Dan.”

Dan tries to use his greater height to crowd Perry, which fails magnificently.

“Oh, stop it, both of you.” I mutter, pushing past them both to get through the door. Perry catches my shoulder to turn me slightly towards him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He squeezes my shoulder for a second, before nodding at me and letting me go. He returns to leaning against the wall and then looks over at Dan again.

“Dan.” He winks at him. Oh God. I hurry inside.

\- - - - -

“Dan!”

Turk sounds the total opposite to how Perry did earlier (the anti-Cox?). They chest bump and I roll my eyes and go back to looking through my charts, scribbling notes into some of the margins and trying unsuccessfully to pull my sleeve down over the wrist brace.

“Why are you hanging out in a hospital, Dan? Go into town or something.”

Turk and Dan glance over.

“Feeling moody, J-Dizzle?”

“He’s just tired of me overshadowing him all the time, it’s understandable.”

I scoff quietly and look over to Carla, who gives me an equally exasperated look back.

“Are you still having your house-warming dinner next week, Bambi?”

_Shit, I forgot about that_.

“Oh… yeah. Tuesday? I’ll ask Elliot and Doctor Cox too.”

“The Todd wants to come.” Turk adds.

“The Todd can’t come.”

“He’s saying he’ll bring four hot chicks now.”

“No.”

“Hang on JD, we should consider this.” Dan interjects.

“No. Anyway, I didn’t say you were invited either.”

“I’m in the same _house_. And anyway, you don’t want Elliot to feel like the – uh, I mean, six is a better number than five.”

I give Dan a warning look. I’m pretty sure he was about to say something about Elliot being a third wheel before he caught himself.

“Since when do you care about dinner party etiquette?” Carla asks Dan. He winks at her.

“I’m a man of many talents, Carla.”

\- - - - -

The day passes relatively uneventfully. Perry seems to make himself scarce around Dan, something I’m assuming he’s doing for my benefit since he never avoids conflict usually. Dan then vanishes midway through the day and I try not to think about whether he’s hooked up with Elliot in the on-call room again. It’s not that I have any lingering feelings over Elliot, just the thought of them doing it nearby makes me feel slightly weird.

Particularly since _I’m_ not getting beyond third base myself. Whether in the on-call room or not.

_Perry and I getting hot and heavy in the on-call room until I throw my arms in the air and yell “wooo, home base!”_

_“What?”_

“What, Samantha?”

I snap out of it. “Sorry.”

“I was asking if your moronic brother was still around.”

He looks slightly annoyed, but also oddly pleased by something. I realize with a start that it’s the first time I’ve zoned out at work since… well, that’s probably why he’s pleased.

“No, I think he’s left. I’ve not seen him since he was in the cafeteria trying to eat eggs in all their different varieties.”

“Well, I’m sure your place will smell delightful tonight.” He glances around and then lowers his voice slightly. “Want me to come over?”

“I don’t think the environment will be very pleasant. And I don’t just mean Dan farting out about twenty eggs.”

“Come over to mine?”

I hesitate. It’s tempting – and not just because of the potential eggmageddon tonight.

“I’ve got therapy. I could come over after – but I won’t be able to stay long.”

He grins. “Great, I’ll make sure I have some terrible pizza in.”

He walks off onto his rounds.

“I eat other foods, you know!” I yell after him and then wince and mutter to myself “Damnit, should have gone with ‘I thought you’d decided you’d overdone the pineapple pizza jokes’.”

\- - - - -

I’m sat in Craig’s waiting room, fiddling with the ends of my sleeves and trying not to imagine his expression when I tell him about recent updates. I hope he doesn’t get mad, I _really_ hope he-

“JD, come in.”

He’s stuck his head around the door and is calling me over. I slowly get up and walk over. Craig frowns slightly and backs off to let me through the door and then closes it behind me.

“Something on your mind?”

I weigh up whether it’s worth waiting until later or if I should just blurt it out now.

“I… uh…”

He glances at me sharply and sits down, gesturing at me to do the same thing. I sit down on the couch, crossing my legs slightly and holding onto my knees to try to steady myself.

“…I…”

“What did you do?” Craig sounds tired. “You didn’t go to that bar again, did you?”

“No! I… oh, I think it’s probably worse than that…”

I drop my head into my hands briefly and then glance up at Craig, who’s waiting patiently.

“I’m sort of… seeing someone.”

“How is that worse than having a one night stand?”

“It’s Doctor Cox.”

“Ah.”

He doesn’t sound particularly shocked. “You know, Doctor Cox? Angry, very dysfunctional, my boss Doctor Cox?”

“Yes, I realize who you mean.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You aren’t surprised?”

“No, not particularly. Both of your behaviors struck me as suggesting you had unaddressed feelings towards one another.”

_Devil man. Puppet master. What?_

“What?”

“Well…” he shrugs. “Some of your comments in therapy implied it pretty heavily, if I’m honest. And I was pretty sure you sometimes weren’t mentioning other things that would have made it conclusive because you weren’t comfortable with the idea. And his over-bearing, over-protective behavior on top of his strangely adolescent teasing made me think that he potentially was doing something similar.”

I frown. “Were you planning on _telling_ me that at any point?”

“I was planning on asking you if you thought you did have any unresolved feelings towards him later in the therapy. But you’ve jumped ahead and they’re resolved now.”

I open my mouth and then close it again.

“It’s not up to me to tell my patients what to do, JD. Or influence them towards any particular outcome, so no, when I picked up on it I didn’t outright point it out to you. I wasn’t sure I was right and I thought if I was then you’d eventually come to the realization yourself.”

“Go me.” I mutter

“What do you mean by ‘sort of’ seeing him?”

“I don’t really know what we are. He wants to ‘take things slow’-“ I make air quotation marks “- and we’re kind of just seeing what happens.”

“Why do you sound so annoyed at taking a relationship slowly?”

“Oh, I’m fine with taking _the relationship_ slowly, but he doesn’t mean that.”

“He means the sexual side of it?”

“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “See, _this_ is why it made sense to hook up with a stranger who didn’t know the back story of the whole shitty thing. He’s so fucking scared of hurting me and it makes me feel even more like a victim.”

“You don’t need to rush into sex to prove that you aren’t a victim.”

“I’m _not_ trying to rush into sex. Sex is fine, intimacy isn’t fine. He’s happy to be intimate – actually, really quite intimate – which is what is more difficult for me. If it was before all this shit with Steve I would totally be trying to have sex by this point in dating someone.”

“Don’t judge yourself by ‘before’ and ‘after’ standards, you can only judge what you feel comfortable with now. And having sex with Doctor Cox is not necessarily going to be like having a one night stand.”

“What do you mean?”

“You found your one night stand possible because it was purely physical with limited intimacy – in fact, as soon as it became more intimate you became distressed. Do you really think that having sex with someone like Doctor Cox will be similar to having sex with someone you have no emotional connection to?”

A cold sensation is creeping through my stomach. “You… you think?”

“Well, I’m not saying it’s definitely the case. I just think slow does make sense.”

“Well, you are apparently psychic so I should probably listen.”

He rolls his eyes.

\- - - - -

“Hard day babysitting, Candy?”

I groan and wrap my arms around him as he shuts the door behind me and laughs, kissing my forehead.

“You could stay here, you know?”

I groan again into his neck, then pull back and cup his face with one of my hands, running my thumb along his jawline, feeling the slight scratch of stubble. He smiles at me, cocking his head slightly, apparently intrigued by my taking charge. I smile back, then lean forward and gently kiss him.

His teeth scrape lightly against my lower lip and I run a hand down his back, pulling him closer to me. His arms wrap around my waist in response. I moan softly and slide my tongue against his lips, pressing gently until he reacts, kissing me back hard. I turn my head slightly to get better access, enjoying the way he’s responding to me with equal enthusiasm.

He tightens his grip around my waist and moves us back to sit down on the couch, me in his lap. He keeps one arm wrapped around my waist while the other moves up to stroke my neck and tangle into my hair.

I eventually have to pull away to pant some air back into my lungs. Perry laughs softly and presses a quick kiss to my lips.

“Remember to breathe, Pandora.”

I huff out a breath and give him a grumpy look. “Sorry for being into it.”

His hands stroke through my hair, his fingernails digging into my scalp lightly. The sensation makes me roll my head back and my eyes close, exposing my neck. He kisses gently up my throat and then along my jaw, his other hand moving down to rest on my ass.

“Don’t.” I grunt to him. “You’re making it really hard for me to leave soon.”

“Making it really hard, huh?”

I open my eyes and glance back down at him. “Well, thanks, I guess acting like The Todd is the verbal equivalent of a cold shower.”

He smirks at me and I clamber out of his lap to sit on the couch next to him. He slings an arm around my shoulders.

“So you’re not staying long, huh?”

“No, I said I couldn’t.”

“I know. Thought I might be able to convince you.”

I wriggle uncomfortably, trying and failing to make my erection subside. He glances down and then gives me a knowing look. “I could deal with that for you, if you want?”

“Is this you still trying to convince me?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, well I don’t really fancy having to get the leathers dry cleaned because of that.” I roll my shoulders and sigh, leaning my head against his bicep before moving to rest my forehead against his. “I really do have to get going.”

He smiles at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. I press my nose against his and close my eyes, feeling finally relaxed after a long and stressful day.

“Don’t want to go,” I mutter to him.

“Then don’t, nnnn’kay?”

“I have to…”

“I can tell Dan you’re staying here tonight,” he murmurs, feathering kisses back down my neck and unzipping my jacket, sliding a hand inside to flick a finger across one of my nipples through my shirt. I yowl quietly and arch my back without thinking, pressing my erection against his thigh. I realize I probably should just ask him to “deal with it”, otherwise I’ll have to do it myself in the shower later, with my brother feet away. Ugh. Probably while thinking I should have stayed here.

“No-o,” I gasp, my breath hitching as his hands trail over me. “He’ll get _really_ unreasonable, he’s already being weird about it. I need to get back tonight.”

“Oh?” He’s unzipping the pants now and sliding down to gently press his palm against my cock. My head falls back abruptly and I sigh as he runs a finger along the length of my cock through the lycra pants.

“Yeah,” I gasp.

“Well, I guess I just need to make sure you enjoy yourself now.”

He suddenly pulls me into his lap, wrenching my jacket off and hitching my leather pants down to my knees. I sit up and kiss him hard as he wraps one arm around my shoulders to steady me and moves the other back down to start jerking me off, sliding his hand under the lycra. The feeling of his hand wrapped around my cock already feels like it’s overloading my senses. I twitch hard against his palm and make a strangled “nnghhh” noise against his lips.

“To try to dissuade you from wearing these godawful things, I am going to make you come in these lycra pants.” Perry informs me, almost conversationally.

I shiver against him and whine as he continues to fist my cock and kiss my exposed throat and clavicle. I cling back onto him, noticing that the tremors seem to be back in my hands but for totally different reasons than usual. My right knee jerks at random and I feel a deep, hot tingling sensation low in my stomach as he continues. My head falls back against his shoulder as I gasp for breath. He changes from kissing along my neck to licking delicately up my throat, pressing against my stomach with the hand not pumping my cock steadily.

Which is apparently enough to tip me over the edge. I come, hips stuttering against his wrist and making a noise like a lost puppy until he covers my mouth with his and kisses me hard as the last throes of my orgasm burn themselves out.

I pant against his lips, feeling dazed and shivery. After a minute or so my brain starts to function again and I realize how one-sided that was.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” I mutter, shifting slightly and then wincing because, of course, the complete maniac has actually made me come in the lycra pants like he threatened to and God, that’s gross. “I’ll return the favor.”

“No need,” he replies, rather tightly. I glance at him, noticing that he’s making an odd expression I’ve not seen before on him. Embarrassment?

“Did… did you just-“

“You can’t comment, Newbie, you just came inside your pants.”

“Yeah, with direct stimulation.”

“You were wriggling around a hell of a lot, there was a fair bit of stimulation.”

I start laughing, then stop pretty abruptly as I shift again and feel the sticky mess in my pants. If I stay like this then I’ll definitely start having “invasive thoughts”; need to clean up.

“I think I’ll shower. Want to join me?” I smirk at him. “Y’know, since you enjoyed that so much.”

He glowers at me, but follows me to the bathroom.

“I’m not doing it to you again in the shower, Margaret, I used a whole gallon of drain unblocker last time.”

We totally do it again in the shower.

\- - - - -

After borrowing a pair of boxers and then pointedly leaving the lycra pants on his bathroom floor (he made the mess, he can damn well clean it up) I refuse the Hawaiian pizza, grumpily pointing out that I do eat other things and I am now massively late. He is not remotely apologetic and is just smug.

“Oh, I’m doing that dinner party thing on Tuesday if you’re around?”

“Sure.”

“Dan will be there, don’t prod him, okay?”

“I don’t _prod_.”

“You totally prod.”

He slouches onto the couch and makes a face at me. “Whatever, Newbie. I’ll behave if he does.”

“Okay, great,” I say absent-mindedly, trying to find my keys. It’s only after I’ve kissed him goodbye (then kissed him goodbye again and then kissed him goodnight for good measure) and am getting onto the Aprilia that I frown at his ominous words; _I’ll behave if he does_.

Jesus, I have to try and get Dan to behave as well?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JD’s thoughts at the beginning of the chapter are my best attempt to describe what it’s like to be in a mildly dissociative state. It’s never really mentioned anywhere just how annoying it is to be aware of acting “wrong/weird“ but be utterly unable to change how you’re acting.
> 
> In other news, I love writing Dan. Laughing at your own jokes is kinda narcissistic, but I totally sat and giggled about “Eggmageddon”. I also love writing mildly besotted JD, he’s cute.
> 
> JD’s dinner party next week! :D


	16. 16. My Soirée

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I enjoyed writing this chapter even more than “My Green Eyed Monster”, I had great fun with all of them being in one place. Also, split JD/Cox POV, my favourite.
> 
> The bad clam briefly reappears for an encore. I have now added it as a featured character, as it's the star of the show.

“Do _not_ pick a fight with Doctor Cox,” I tell Dan, for the fifth time in an hour. He gives me a bored look.

“I’ll treat him okay if he returns the favor.”

“Oh great, you’re both as belligerent as one another.”

“Just focus on making your pavlova, Johnny.”

I pull a face at him. After being determined to not try anything too complicated I’ve somehow ended up attempting a seafood risotto and a mixed berry pavlova. I stare at my messy kitchen mournfully and wish that I had just ordered pizza like a normal person.

I have eaten way too much pizza recently.

Dan is slumped on the couch drinking beer. I glare at the back of his head.

“A little help, maybe?”

“I’m checking the beer is still good, lil’ brother.”

I frown at him. He’s already had four of them and it’s not even five in the evening yet.

“Slow down, Dan.” I call to him as I start washing the pile of dirty crockery. He says “uh huh” absently in response and I bite back the urge to growl at him.

\- - - - -

I am once again in this godawful wine merchants looking for a bottle of something impressive to take to Newbie’s dinner. This seems even more pointless than buying that ridiculously expensive bottle of Sancerre for Carla and Gandhi’s thing; I’m pretty sure that JD wouldn’t know a decent dry white if it bit him on the ass.

I glance at the Pouilly-Fumé I’m currently considering. _I_ wouldn’t know a decent dry white if it bit me on the ass, quite frankly.

I still spend twice as much on the wine than I did on the Sancerre. I glance at myself in the mirror behind the clerk as I buy it; the new shirt and pants are probably evidence of me trying too hard. I do look good though, which you kinda have to keep on top of if you’re dating (dating? Are we?) someone fifteen years younger than you. Great, I’ve turned into one of _those_ middle aged guys, but to mix it up I’m also having a sexuality crisis.

JD has messaged me to ask if I can arrive earlier than the rest of the guests because he’s worried about Dan being a total ass. The implication is that it’s better for Dan to be a total ass in private than in public. I sigh; I was actually starting to grow quite fond of Dan. I was imagining tag-teaming him to torment JD, but if I’m being honest I’m really pretty pissed with how he’s behaving. As of yet he’s still not come and spoken to me and seems to be content in just stressing Newbie out. I’m nahwt impressed. I don’t think Newbie is either. I’m half expecting a panicked phone call at 2 am asking me to help him dispose of the body.

I bet I would help him as well. I’m a total sucker.

I even washed his damn lycra pants for him, the little bastard.

I pull up to Newbie’s drive and get out of the Porsche. JD appears to have decorated the outside of the house with fairy lights; I don’t know whether this was planned or he just used it as an excuse to get away from Dan and therefore be less likely to murder him. Whatever reason, it looks nice.

I ring the doorbell and am greeted promptly by JD. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with his hair swept back and looks… gorgeous, to be frank. Without thinking I kiss him, pulling him flush against me. He makes a slight noise of protest against my lips before kissing me back hard, grabbing my shirt.

I jump when someone clears their throat nearby and glance over to see that Dan is leaning against the wall and glaring at us. There’s a slightly unfocused look in his eyes and I remember JD’s comments about his being more unreasonable when drunk. Oh, great.

I release Newbie and nod at Dan. JD looks over his shoulder and flinches as he notices his brother. He blushes and takes the wine I pass him over to the refrigerator. JD’s open plan living space means that there’s not anywhere to privately discuss anything. I look around; he’s opened the back door and decorated the area around the wildflower meadow with more fairy lights. I wonder if I should go out there with Dan, but decide against it.

“Coxy.”

“Dan.”

“Finished manhandling Johnny?”

JD makes an angry noise from the kitchen and is glaring at Dan. I figure I probably should have gone outside, but it’s too late for that now. I cross my arms and glare at Dan.

“Problem?”

“Yeah, actually Coxsmith, I do have a problem.”

“Oh God.” Newbie says quietly.

“See, Johnny’s explained _how_ it all happened, but I think he’s missing some of the information.”

I lift my eyebrows at Dan and wait. He hesitates slightly, looking between me and JD.

“Cat got your tongue, Dan?” I ask. “Only when someone says they have a problem I’d expect them to have the stones to actually say what it is.”

“Well, I don’t like that you _manipulated_ my brother into this-“

“Oh God.” Newbie says again.

“I don’t like how reliant he is on you-“

I see JD drop his head into his hands in the kitchen.

“I don’t like how you apparently have no respect for his boundaries, despite what happened-“

JD groans very quietly to himself.

“I don’t like that _after_ what happened Johnny has apparently started something with another guy, particularly one where the power dynamic is so obviously skewed against him. And if I’m honest I find the whole ‘mentor relationship’ turned sexual slightly creepy. I mean, how much older are you than JD anyway?”

I wait until I’m sure he’s done and then lift an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

“No, other than that everything is peachy.” Dan bares his teeth at me – I really can’t describe it as a grin.

JD has moved surprisingly quickly from where he was stood in the kitchen with his head in his hands to standing next to me, glowering at Dan.

“We’ve _already_ discussed this, Dan. I was not manipulated into anything and-“

“Oh, weren’t you? You realize I was reporting _back_ to Coxer on how you were doing, right? That he knew exactly when you were struggling the most?”

“What?” JD’s looking at me with confused, wide eyes. I feel a stab of guilt and then fear that I’ll see distrust or, worse, hate in them in a moment. I know if I tell him that Dan's lying then he'll believe me, but I don't want to bullshit him about this.

“He was keeping me updated.” I confirm quietly. “Because I was worried. But I hadn’t heard from him for weeks before anything happened. It’s unrelated.”

JD looks unsure.

“I know it was intrusive and I’m sorry. We can discuss it later, but it’s nothing to do with this.”

JD nods and then glances back at Dan, who scoffs.

“See, this is what I mean; you believe any crap he says. You’ve spent so long looking up to him and deifying him that you think that he’s somehow perfect when he sure as hell isn’t.”

“I don’t think-“

“I mean, is this the length you’d go to for that damn hug you want so much?”

JD goes pale and I round on Dan moving slightly in front of Newbie in a (pointless) defensive gesture, not trying to keep my temper any more. “Dan, that is out of line-“

“What, are you going to just mess with him and then use it as more ammunition when you’re tormenting him?”

I snarl and step forward, expecting Dan to back down or at least shut up. He doesn’t; he actually steps towards me, continuing his poisonous ranting.

“So you can add his performance in bed to the girls’ names and the general belittling? And, what, you find what happened to him a turn on or something-?”

Before I’ve realized what I’m doing I’ve seized Dan by the shirt and pulled a hand back, my hand already curled into a fist, blood roaring in my ears as I just want him to shut up _shut up shut up_.

Only I can’t move my hand to swing it into Dan’s stupid, judgmental face since there’s a dead weight on it. I look back to see JD anchoring me in place, holding my arm immobilized, his eyes wide and freaked out. I pause, the expression on his face freezing me to the spot more than him holding onto my arm.

“Stop it, please, both of you.”

I let go of Dan’s shirt, who angrily straightens it back down and glares at me. I give him a venomous look in response and then turn to JD, who’s now looking slightly ill. He’s wrapped an arm around his waist to try to hide the way his hands are trembling. I want nothing more than to give in to the protective urge I can feel to wrap my arms around him and comfort him, but know that will prompt Dan to start ranting at me again.

“Sit down.”

He nods and clambers onto one of the bar stools along the kitchen island, clasping his hands together and hunching over. Dan gives me another angry look, which I assume is linked to me telling JD what to do (or JD doing what I tell him, one or the other).

This is _not_ a good start.

\- - - - -

“Dan, can you make some cocktails please?”

I say it to try and break the tension in the room, since Perry and Dan have been glaring at each other like angry dogs for the past few minutes. Also, I desperately want them to both back down before anyone else arrives. And I could really do with an appletini.

Dan looks at me for a moment and then says “sure, lil’ brother” before crossing the kitchen and beginning to pull bottles out from the cupboard I keep the liquor in. I glance down at my hands and try to will them to stop shaking. I hate that when they looked like they were about to start hitting each other I initially froze up, that I just wanted to be _away_ from it, away from the anger and the violence. I hate that fear can do that to me, paralyze me, make me so useless. I had no control.

Of course, when Perry looked like he was about to punch Dan in the face I reanimated enough to stop him, but I can’t stand that initial fear. It makes me feel useless. It makes me feel weak.

A hand on my shoulder makes me jump and I look up at Perry; he seems concerned. He squeezes my shoulder and I close my eyes and rest my head against his stomach, feeling his hard abdominal muscles against my cheek. I inhale, smelling his aftershave and the new clothes scent that’s still on his shirt. I notice that he doesn’t smell like scotch or beer any more, something Dan could do with emulating.

There’s a clatter next to me and my eyes fly open to see that Dan has roughly shoved an appletini down next to me.

“Thanks,” I say to him, regretfully pulling away from Perry and reaching for it, noticing that the shaking in my hands has reduced to a fine tremor. He nods at me and shoots another angry glance at Perry. I bite my lip, realizing that leaning on him probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I look between them nervously.

“Please can you both just back off? You can scream at each other later, I really don’t want anyone to pick up on this.”

They both grudgingly nod and shoot furious looks at each other. I sigh.

“Dan, I thought you were okay with all this.”

He shrugs. “I’m okay with you. Just not… not _him_.”

“But he’s part of-“

The doorbell rings. I freeze and then look at them both. “Behave.” I hiss at them and receive joint looks of disgust from them both.

I hurry to the door to find Carla, Turk and Elliot all together. Carla is practically bouncing on her feet, Turk looks slightly bored and Elliot is an odd combination of nervous and intrigued. She’s looking pretty; she’s wearing more make up than usual and is wearing a floaty pink top. I really hope she’s not doing that to impress Dan…

“Hey guys!” I exclaim, pushing as much fake jollity into my voice as is possible under the circumstances. Carla squeals and throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“JD, it’s so pretty! All of the fairy lights and… and everything!”

“Wait until you get inside, it’s even better!” I respond, followed by a nervous laugh. Turk rolls his eyes at me.

Turk, Carla and Elliot all go inside and at least it dilutes the tension in the room, if it doesn’t altogether dissipate it. Dan suddenly switches on his charming, big brother, bar tender mode, accepting bottles of wine and offering to make various cocktails. Perry slouches away to the sofa, as far away from Dan as possible, and is joined pretty promptly by Carla. Turk engages Dan in some conversation (sports?) whilst Elliot stands awkwardly to one side of the conversation, laughing every so often.

 _Oh no, Elliot._ I think to myself sadly.

“Hey, dude, this place is awesome!” Turk enthuses. “Even Rowdy looks pleased.”

We all look at Rowdy. He’s stood next to the stoner beanbag and looks pretty happy, considering I put a party hat on his head and a party horn into his mouth earlier in the evening.

“Yeah, Bambi, this all looks real swanky.” Carla beams at me. She then sees the table setting and runs over to look at it, exclaiming over the table runner and matching sets I got for the occasion ( _bunting score_ ).

I walk over to Turk, Dan and Elliot. “Hey guys.”

“Nice place, JD.” Elliot says quietly. I smile at her.

“Thanks Elliot, I like it.”

“Hey, JD, why don’t you show Elliot the meadow?” Dan suddenly pipes up. I frown at him.

“There’s a meadow?” Elliot asks.

“Yeah, it’s just out back. I’ll show it to you.”

I give Dan an annoyed look. I know exactly what he’s doing and it is so not going to work. I like Elliot, sure, but not like _that_ , not any more, even if Perry wasn’t something to consider. But she’s my friend and I do genuinely think she’ll like it, so I go outside with her. She exhales a slow “ohhhhh” of appreciation.

“I am a wizard with the fairy lights.” I grin at her.

“It’s pretty, JD. It’s secluded as well, was that one of the reasons you bought this place?”

Ah, standard Elliot. Blunt to the point of pain.

“Yeah, it was a pretty appealing factor. You know, privacy, control… seclusion. All very… inviting after what happened.”

“Sorry,” she makes a face. “I’m really bad at this.”

“Actually, you aren’t. Sometimes I worry I’ve invented it all, the way the others talk about it. Or, rather, the way they don’t talk about it.”

“I never was very good at subtlety.”

I laugh. “Understatement, Elliot.”

There’s a pause.

“Talking of which… are you still into Dan?”

She gives me a horrified look through her blond bangs.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda, yeah.” I look at her even more horrified expression. “But then I do know you better than most.”

I’m pretty sure everyone has noticed, but a bit of kindness can’t ever really hurt.

“Is Doctor Cox okay?”

I look at her in surprise and then lean against the house. I don’t know why she’d notice and even if she did I don’t really know why she’d ask me.

“Yeah, I think so? Why?”

“He seemed weird at Sacred Heart when I was on shift with him. He was having an argument with someone on his cell as well.”

_Ah, Dan._

“I think he’s fine.” I hedge. She’s looking at me in an oddly thoughtful way that makes me think she suspects something.

“He seemed pretty upset about something.”

“When was this?”

“On Thursday.”

Ah, it was also when I was ignoring him.

“Oh. It’s probably about Jack or something. He’s not seeing him as much as he wants.” I mutter, then suddenly realize that Jack and Perry’s son share the same name. Arghhh.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

Elliot gives me a slightly knowing look, then looks back to the house.

“Can Dan do anything other than appletinis?”

I grin at her. “Hey, Elliot, I’ve got a professional barkeep for my party. He can make you anything you want.”

As we walk back to the house I really hope that she doesn’t get drunk and ask for a slippery nipple. That would be super awkward.

\- - - - -

“-and then I told Laverne that she was being crazy about-“

I glance at the sliding doors again, trying not to be too obvious. Newbie and Barbie went out there about five minutes ago and I’m starting to get annoyed. My eyes flick over to Dan, who’s watching me vindictively whilst pretending to talk to Gandhi.

I’m _so_ tempted to go and look out. But I trust him. I trust him, right?

I mean, Barbie’s somehow _not_ someone he’s embarrassed about dating, but… I frown and look back at Carla, who apparently hasn’t noticed my interest repeatedly wandering from whatever the hell it is she’s talking about. Where the hell is he? Why the hell hasn't he come back in yet?

“Uh huh.” I say flatly. She frowns at me.

“Well, sor-ry. How are you holding up, anyway?”

“Oh my God, Carla, don’t start that. I preferred it when you were prattling about the nurses.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “There’s no chance of you and Jordan getting back together?”

“None.” I glance back at the doors.

“Are you seeing Jack much?”

“Yeah, every other weekend. It’s not great, but we’ll figure something out. I don’t want him to be with the harpies all the time.”

Oh, thank Christ, they’ve reappeared and look utterly disinterested in one another. Barbie has beelined back to Dan and Gandhi, whilst Newbie has gone to start cooking the food, bitching at Dan to get out of his way. I relax.

Apparently too visibly, since Carla has noticed as well.

“He seems better.”

“Huh. Hard to tell sometimes.”

“No, he does. He’s seeming more like himself recently.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I’d noticed it too, the daydreaming, the idiotic comments, he’s slowly relaxing back into who he really is, although he does seem slightly different, somehow wearier and more suspicious. Like he’s slowly reclaiming himself, like building on land that used to be covered by seawater.

I never thought the daydreaming and idiotic comments would feel so welcome, would give me such a sense of relief.

“You haven’t noticed? Seriously, _you_ haven’t?”

“I noticed some things.”

“Yeah, well, he seems happy too, you notice that?”

I scoff, although part of me is suddenly, desperately interested. “You know I don’t notice things like that.”

“Well, he does. In the last week or so.”

A warm, pleased sensation is manifesting in my stomach. It’s like the bad clam came back, but changed into scotch or something.

“Maybe his therapy is working.”

The scotch has morphed back into the bad clam and I try not to wince. I got a message from his therapist, bluntly telling me we needed to talk. I’ve not gotten up the courage to ask, but I’m pretty sure JD must have told him what had happened at his last session. I thought the whole deal was I drop in on Gillespie, not he _summon_ me, like I’m some sort of devastatingly handsome demon.

“In my experience, therapy doesn’t work.”

“Yeah, ‘cos your therapist can’t cure you from being _you_.”

I make a face at her and am interrupted from trading an insult back by Newbie announcing that the food is ready.

\- - - - -

I have to hand it to him, this is much better than pineapple pizza or a shitload of eggplants, which is essentially what I was expecting. He’s actually cooked it all pretty well. I try and think of a way of complimenting him that isn’t too obvious.

“This isn’t bad, Newbie.”

He smiles at me, his eyes softening slightly. My gaze flickers over his pale skin, dark swept back hair and dark blue shirt that highlights his eyes. He's stupidly gorgeous. I feel an odd, tingling sensation in my stomach.

“ _Not bad?!_ The J-Dizzle has made the shizzle!” Gandhi announces, interrupting my appreciative stare.

I snap an annoyed glance over at him and notice that Barbie is watching me thoughtfully as I do so. I look away quickly and continue eating the risotto, trying not to look back at JD.

“Yeah, this is really good, JD.” Barbie says, continuing to look at me attentively.

“My lil’ brother is a man of hidden talents.” Dan announces. I try not to read anything into that. He’s been drinking his cocktail ingredients pretty steadily throughout the night and I'm genuinely impressed that he’s still managing to stay upright and apparently speak lucidly.

“It’s just… y’know, Google recipes.” JD grins awkwardly. “Nothing too impressive.”

“Nothing too impressive?!” Dan scoffs. “He’s been making the dessert for hours. And you should see what else he’s been up to.”

JD narrows his eyes slightly. There’s a slight thud and I’m pretty sure he just kicked Dan under the table.

“What dessert is it, Bambi?”

“Pavlova.”

“Ooh.”

“Bet Turk’s wishing I just got the keg stand now.”

“Nah, dude, I’m happy with anything outside of my diabetes diet.”

“Oh, shit.” Newbie’s eyes are wide. “I forgot-“

“Don’t sweat it, bro, I’m allowed a little something-something every so often. Right, Carla?”

“Well, you’re allowed sugar sometimes…”

Gandhi makes a long-suffering expression and then winks at Newbie. Newbie continues to look concerned, presumably because meringue is essentially likely to induce a diabetic coma.

“Don’t worry JD, I got my pills with me.”

“If you’re sure. I could find something low sugar, make diabetic brownies or something?”

“Nah, man, I’m sick of them. They taste like sand.” He catches sight of Carla glaring at him. “I mean, apart from my beautiful wife’s, which taste like… ambrosia?”

“Good save.” Carla comments.

“Dan, are you still working at the bar in your home town?” Barbie asks.

“I’ve taken some time out to come check on JD,” Dan says airily, like he hasn’t just been fired for terminal lateness and genuinely gives a shit. “I might look into doing something new.”

“What like?”

“Dunno, just bar tending is getting kinda old.” He downs his (fifth?) glass of wine and looks over at Barbie blearily.

Newbie is surreptitiously stacking plates at the table. Seeing his wrist is still not quite steady I start helping him and carry the plates over to the sink for him as he starts to get the dessert ready. We work in tandem as I run the water and soak the plates and he dishes out the pavlova. It’s not until I notice the lull in conversation that I glance back at the table and see them all looking at us curiously, apart from Dan who’s looking amused.

“What?” I ask.

Carla shrugs. “Not like you to be so house trained.”

I look over at Newbie, who’s frozen from dishing up the dessert and looks mortified. No help there then. I shrug.

“I thought I’d help…” I awkwardly move back to the table, drying my hands on the dishcloth. Dan continues to look amused (which is his current inebriated state mainly looks leery) and I resist the urge to throw the dishcloth into his smug face.

JD has apparently thawed enough to start passing dessert out and is determinedly not looking at me as he does so. I’m tempted to throw him an apologetic look, but it just felt so natural to help carry the plates, particularly knowing his wrist was bothering him. Anyway, I don’t think he’s actually mad at me, more annoyed that he didn’t pick up how… couplesy we were being.

He finishes passing out the desserts and slumps onto his chair, still looking slightly horrified.

“Oh my God, JD, this is _so_ good.” Barbie enthuses, with her mouth full of pavlova. It defuses the slightly awkward silence and I feel almost fond of her, even if she likely didn’t intend to be some mild comic relief.

I smirk, but then notice Dan continuing to stare at me with an annoying smug expression. I look away and resolutely ignore him for the rest of the night.

As much as I can, anyway. All things considered.

\- - - - -

I think this has gone well. I mean, apart from the faux pas with Perry helping me with the dishes and the distinct feeling that Elliot suspects something.

And Dan being a dick.

Other than all of that, I think it’s gone well.

I’m making a selection of lattes, only one of which is caramel (peasants). There is general “dinner party” chatter going on, some gossip around one of the nurses and something about sports (am honestly equally clueless about either, having given up on engaging with other people and never even tried with sports). I should have got some sort of chocolates or something for after, but I’m already feeling bad enough about Turk’s blood sugar levels as it is. I pass out the coffees and sit down next to Turk, who gives me a reassuring grin.

“Nice one, JD,” he murmurs quietly to me.

“Was that okay?” I reply, equally quietly.

“Yeah, man. Stop being so worried, dude.”

“Do you like it?” I ask. I’m not sure what I mean; the dinner, the house?

“Yeah, JD. I like anything you like anyway.” Turk smiles at me. There’s a pause in conversation and I realize that everyone around the table has heard what Turk just said.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Dan is slurring slightly, his drinking pretty much all the beer and a good proportion of the wine and cocktail ingredients having apparently got to him during the night. I glare at him, trying to intimidate him into shutting up, since I think his legs have gone numb from the combined alcohol and amount I’ve been kicking him during the evening under the table.

“What do you mean, Dan?” Carla asks.

“Dan doesn’t mean anything,” I say loudly. “Charades?”

God, why did I say that? Although I can totally set up an impromptu game of Charades.

“Hey hey hey heyyyy, lil’ brother.” Dan interjects. “I was just thinking that Turk doesn’t know the whole picture.”

Oh shit. He’s… he’s not, right? I’ve gone cold. I glance at Perry, who’s looking equally worried.

“You realize Johnny… likes Wings, right?”

Oh, thank Christ.

Unfortunately, since I brought it up I then have to set up a Charades match. There’s some slight awkwardness as I almost unconsciously couple myself with Perry, then have to stop myself and team Dan, Elliot and I together (oh God) and separate Perry to partner with Turk and Carla in an attempt to hide it. He gives me an amused glance and then goes and sits next to Carla.

“No medical phrases,” Dan slurs, clearly really drunk by this point.

“Dan, should you maybe go lie down?” I hiss to him. He shakes his head “nah lil’ brother, I’m good.”

The first round goes well – I totally beat Carla at her lame impression of “Jaws” (honestly, just repeatedly pointing at your teeth doesn’t even make sense, it’s _jaws_ not _molars_ , woman). However Elliot is beaten soundly by Turk’s frankly fantastic Top Gun slo-mo volleyball impression that Perry gets in about ten seconds.

Then it all derails.

“Hey, I’m going off script!” Dan suddenly announces, lurching to his feet. I frown at him and glance around the room, where everyone is staring at him in confusion.

"What're you-?"

“It’s an open floor, anyone can guess!”

At which point he begins to hold onto an imaginary person in front of him and thrusts his hips forward, whilst wearing an exaggerated stern expression. Oh no, oh God, oh no, what the…

I drop my head into my hands, hiding my face away and desperate to pretend this isn’t happening, seriously, this _cannot_ be happening.

“Er… bored orgy?” Elliot asks.

“I mean,” Dan drawls “I thought it was pretty obvious. It’s Coxer fucking my brother.”

There’s a horrible dead silence immediately after, broken only by the sound of Perry abruptly standing up and punching Dan in the face.

Oh _God_.


	17. 17. My Advice

Normally when you punch someone literally off their feet there’s some response from the people around you. Not this continued shell-shocked silence.

Newbie has apparently decided that the best response is hiding his face in his hands, the way kids do when they think that if they can’t see you then you can’t see them. Oddly, it does actually seem to be working, but I think that’s mainly because everyone is staring at me. With them all sitting (or lying) down and me standing up I feel like I’m on a stage. At a loss for what to do, I stare back and resist the urge to kick Dan while he’s down.

The silence is finally broken by a hideous, burbling noise from Dan. I initially think he might actually be crying, but then realize that he is laughing in a weird, clogged kind of way. He sits up, a vacant grin on his face with blood on his teeth, running down from his nose.

Fortunately this seems to make everyone respond like medical professionals and immediately they all start trying to stop the blood flow and checking for concussions.

Well, except for me. And Newbie, who remains sitting with his head down, his hands tangled in his hair.

And, strangely, Gandhi. Considering that he's probably the person in the room who likes Dan the most (and I'm including JD in that assessment), I'd expect him to be more concerned about him. But he's sitting between Newbie and I, apparently trying to catch JD’s eye and becoming increasingly agitated when he can’t. Eventually he looks at me, an odd lost expression on his face.

“What did Dan mean?”

“He’s drunk.” I respond flatly.

“Yeah, but what did his drunk ass mean?”

JD abruptly drops his hands down and straightens up, his hair standing on end crazily from where he’s been clinging onto it. I wonder if he’s been spending the last few minutes trying to come up with some convincing lie.

“Exactly what it sounded like.”

Oh. Was nahwt expecting that.

Gandhi is now staring at Newbie like he’s grown an additional head. I notice that Carla has glanced up, but Barbie is apparently unsurprised and is continuing to try and stop Dan’s nose from bleeding all over him.

“Dude, what do you mean? That… that you and _him_ …?”

“Yeah, Turk.”

“You two are… are…”

“Yes.”

“But you aren’t gay!”

There’s an oddly whiney undertone to his voice. Newbie rolls his eyes.

“No, I’m not. Can we leave this for now?”

Newbie sounds and looks oddly brittle, like he’ll snap with much more pressure. Gandhi doesn’t seem to pick up on it, but Carla does.

“Not now, baby,” she murmurs to Gandhi.

“But he isn’t-“

“ _Not now._ ”

I would laugh at how whipped he is, but it’s currently working in my favor.

I really don’t know what to do. Since Newbie’s just essentially outed us then arguably I should be able to go and sit with him, which I’m experiencing a strong pull to do, feeling ridiculously protective of him. But from how he sounded and his oddly closed expression I’m pretty sure he won’t welcome it. And considering how against he was telling anyone it still somehow feels like betraying his trust to do it.

I glance over at Dan with Barbie and Carla clustered around him. Surprisingly, no one has started to tell me off about hitting him, but I suspect that they all agreed with the sentiment. I frown. I’d quite happily do it again, to be honest.

“Dude.”

I jump and narrow my eyes at Gandhi, waiting for the inevitable hissy fit.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want us to take Dan back to our place?”

Oh. Well, tonight is just full of surprises.

I glare at Dan. “Yeah, you should probably keep him as far away from me as possible.”

Dan has the decency to look embarrassed.

Gandhi moves over to Newbie and pulls him to his feet, startling him. He then briefly hugs him and mutters something into his ear before walking over to Dan and starts to haul him up and over to the door, none too gently, the two women trailing after him.

Just before the door slams behind them Barbie yells back into the house:

“Thanks for a great night, JD!”

\- - - - -

The door slams shut and then there’s the second awkward silence of the night. I give Perry a sidelong glance.

“Are you pissed?”

He looks surprised, his eyebrows raising close to his hairline.

“Pissed, Newbie? Why would you think that?”

I shrug. “I didn’t exactly check you were happy with me telling Turk.”

“I’m not the one with a problem about people knowing. Plus, I’m not sure that you could have said anything else.”

I sigh. “I could have said it was some sick joke.”

“Your brother _is_ some sick joke.”

“No argument there.”

I curtly walk over to him and hug him, wrapping my arms over his shoulders and resting my face against his curls. After a second he slides his arms around my waist and presses his lips to my neck. I close my eyes and moan softly as he gently massages my spine.

He carries on kneading at my back and I relax more against him until he’s practically holding me upright.

“C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

He murmurs it into my neck and I pull away, groaning.

“Nooo, I need to clean up…”

“Leave it.”

“I need to lock up…”

“I’ll do it. Go on.”

I trail upstairs and flop onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. A few minutes later he crashes down next to me, before propping himself up on an elbow and looking at me thoughtfully.

“You okay?”

I frown. “I don’t really know.”

He strokes my hair back from my forehead and then trails a finger down to gently trace along my ear.

“Not exactly the way you wanted them to find out, huh?”

I laugh humorlessly. “Not really. The shit's really gonna hit the fan now, huh?”

He's silent for a moment and I glance at him. He's looking thoughtful. "What, you think they're all going to be cool?"

"Nnnooo... but they were surprisingly calm tonight. I was expecting Gandhi to start yelling at me for stealing his wife and Carla to start reading me the riot act. Because... y'know... she's your Mommy."

"I think they were too surprised to react like that. Maybe Dan's graphic demonstration horrified them all too much."

"Barbie wasn't surprised."

"No, I think she suspected something..."

There's another brief silence before Perry interrupts it.

“Incidentally, I don’t make that face in bed, right?”

I grin at him. “Nah. You sometimes look like you’re really concentrating though.”

“Well, yeah. Someone has to.”

I frown. “Are you saying I’m unfocused?”

“Janet, you have the attention span of an inebriated raccoon.”

He kisses me briefly. As he tries to pull away I catch the back of his head and kiss him hard, tangling my fingers into his hair. I break the kiss and trail my lips across to his ear and growl:

“Let’s see how focused I can be.”

I feel him grin against my cheek.

\- - - - -

“Hey, JD.”

“Nnooo, ‘m not focused ‘nymore… 'm a sex raccoon...”

“Not _that_.”

“Well, if not that then ‘m goin’ t’ sleep…”

He looks at me blearily from where he's been dozing against my shoulder. I frown at him and then worry I look like Dan’s stupid impression of me and stop.

“You really have a one track mind, you know that?”

He gives me a look that clearly says _well, duh_. I guess he really is a guy, despite everything suggesting otherwise.

“What?” he asks grumpily.

“What did Gandhi say to you?”

“Huh?”

“Honestly Newbie, you have no stamina at all. A couple orgasms and your brain turns to mush.”

He blinks at me and then says “huh?” again.

“Gandhi? Y’know, surgeon, follicly challenged? What did he say to you before he left?”

“Oh.” He rubs his eyes, a gesture that I find annoyingly endearing, and then looks at me tiredly. “He was saying we should talk later.”

“Should you?”

He stretches and then wriggles his feet against mine. “Dunno. Yeah, probably.”

“He’s not going to be a dick about it?”

“No. He said he was cool with it. He might be a dick about you, but not about… it. I think.”

“Oh. He can join the club then.”

JD glances up at me. “I thought you didn’t care what people thought?”

“I don’t.”

“Right… because you sound like you don’t.”

“I just don’t like the idea of you having to defend me all the time.”

“Who says I defend you?”

“Ah.”

He rolls his eyes at my expression. “I don’t think he’ll really have a problem. If he did then he’d have said tonight. He’s pretty straight forward like that.”

“So you’re going to be giggling with your sorority sisters about me?”

He frowns and then huffily turns his back on me. I prod his tattoo and he growls.

“Just don’t get into one of those pillow fights, Delilah, you know where they can end up.”

“… Fuck off…”

\- - - - -

“Hey! Hey, JD, over here!”

I spot Turk with relief and hurry over to him. The bar is one we used to hang out at all the time when we lived together, but today it’s crowded and noisy and really not the best place to meet. Particularly with the likely subject matter we'll have to speak about.

“Can we go someplace quieter?” I yell at him.

He looks around, apparently only just realizing that it isn’t the right place to have a discreet discussion.

“It’s not usually this busy this early and I thought this might be easier with beer.”

I look at the nearest guy to us shiftily and Turk stands up and grins at me. “Hey, let’s go back to the apartment instead.”

“Yeah? Will Carla mind?”

“She’s on shift, J-Dog, it’ll just be us.”

As we walk out into the sunlight I grimace. “Dan’s not there, is he?”

“Nah. He spent most of the morning moping around feeling sorry for himself then said he was going out.”

We start walking towards the apartment, an old ritual from this bar. I pull my scarf up around my face to stay warm and shove my hands into my pockets, glancing over at Turk.

“Oh God, I hope he’s not gone back to the house.”

“Is Doctor Cox still there?”

There’s a surprising lack of judgement there; he genuinely just sounds curious.

“Uh, no, he’s at work.”

“He’ll punch him in the face again if he sees him again, huh?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Turk looks oddly pleased. I frown at him. “You want him to?”

“Nah, JD. Just… I dunno.”

I stare at him, trying to figure out what’s going on his head. I used to be able to read him like a book, but maybe I’m losing it a bit. Because what I'm reading is that... is that... 

“Turk… do you _approve_? Because I was kinda expecting you to start telling me what a horrible idea this all is. And possibly be annoyed I didn't tell you I was kinda into guys as well as girls now.”

He grins at me. “I sorta assumed that you were into both when I met you and never quite believed it when you said you weren't, dude. I mean, I'm glad someone's sticking up for you, since you don't seem to ever do it yourself. That has the Turk seal of approval. And in more general terms, it depends. Are you happy?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Has he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Does he help?”

“Yeah.” I look down at my feet and grin.

“Then, yeah. I approve.”

“Just like that?”

Turk doesn’t initially reply and I realize that he’s stopped walking a few steps behind me. I stop and turn around, noticing how serious he looks.

“You’ve seemed a lot better recently.”

“I… I feel a lot better.”

“Because of him?”

I shrug. “And other things.”

“How much because of him?”

I bite my lip and then honestly reply: “A lot because of him. He makes me feel safe.”

“Then I’m happy for you, man.”

He starts walking again and I fall into step with him.

"Really just like that?"

"Yeah, man. I'm not going to pretend I wasn't freaked out last night. Like, I wasn't convinced that _he's_ the best option for you, but then I thought of how you'd been recently. And I spoke with Carla about it-"

"Oh God."

"-Yeah, she's totally tracking him down at the hospital to interrogate him, you realize? I think I have to file a report on what you say to me today when I see her later too."

"Oh God. Are you going to tell her?"

"Well, yeah. Sorry man, but if I withhold anything about your well-being then she will totally make my life miserable. I can't risk that."

"Well, tell her I'm good."

"Yeah, man. And I'll tell her what I'm telling you; I got no problem if you're happy. If he makes you unhappy then I will kick his ass."

I grin at him, a warm rush of relief and gratitude running over me that I've got such an awesome friend. He grins back.

“I mean, if you were going to swing that way then I don’t know why you didn’t fall for me…”

“Oh, Turk, you know you’ll always be my Chocolate Bear.”

\- - - - -

Carla keeps following me around. I damn well know she’s trying to corner me on my own and so I’m intentionally staying around groups of people. Unfortunately my reputation means they all dissipate as soon as I arrive, something which is usually absolutely not a problem. When the fifth group of residents all vanish the second I turn my back on them and suddenly Carla’s alone with me in the ICU I vent my exasperation.

“Damnit, why do none of these residents have any staying power?”

“Because you usually tell them that you’ll destroy them if they are around when you’re angry?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Yeah, but you always look angry to them.”

I sigh and start to check the vitals of the closest patient. “What do you want, Carla?”

“Guess.”

I flinch and adjust an IV. “I’ve kinda off gone off guessing games after that Charades performance.”

“Oh, how funny. You know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“Everything’s a joke to you.”

“Yeah, sure, last night was hilarious.”

“Is JD a joke to you too?”

I pause and then turn around to glare at her. “Of course not.”

“Really? What, you’ve stopped calling him Nancy?”

Actually, I called him Nancy this morning and threw a dishcloth at his head when he started bitching about the washing up.

“What I call him isn’t relevant,” I avoid directly answering the question. “This is not a joke to me.”

"You think you're the best person for him to be with? _You_ , with all your issues and hangups? Can you even get through one discussion with him without calling him a girls' name?"

I frown at her, deciding to not even start on her about nicknames, she just doesn't seem to get that I'm not actually intentionally belittling him. "I think I'm the person who, for whatever insane reason, he wants to be with. And you said yourself last night that he'd seemed better recently."

"Oh, you think that's all you, do you? The great Perry Cox can even cure PTSD."

"No, I don't think that's all me. But I think... I think I'm helping..." I trail off and look at her helplessly. I must look uncharacteristically lost, as she's not looking as angry as she was earlier and is now looking slightly sympathetic. "I'm trying to help him."

“You care about him?”

“You know I do. You _know_ me, Carla.”

She looks at me for a moment, assessing me.

“Does he know?”

“Yeah… I… I’m pretty sure he does.”

“Shouldn’t you tell him?”

I sigh and run a hand over my face. “Carla, I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. Apparently not content to fall for a guy after over forty five years of apparent heterosexuality, I’ve fallen for one with some pretty severe issues.”

“Well, you should have some good, old fashioned sex with him.”

I freeze. The old lady who I had assumed was comatose has apparently joined in the conversation. I mouth _I thought she was dead_ to Carla and then turn around and give her a fake dazzling grin.

“Well, thanks for your advice, ma’am. I’ll definitely consider it.”

She looks over to Carla. “A shame, isn’t it, dear? All the handsome ones are gay.”

\- - - - -

“He’s… he’s not rushing you, is he?”

“Geez, Turk, _no_.”

We’re both sat in front of the TV, feet on the coffee table, beers in hand.

“Well, after what Dan said-“

“Dan didn’t say anything. He mimed something. Inaccurately. Incidentally, did he sleep on this couch? I can still smell those eggs.”

“Yeah, we used a ton of air freshener. Didn’t help.”

“Never does.”

“But… he isn’t, right?”

“The total opposite.”

Turk frowns at me. “What?”

I sigh. “He’s so… ugh, you don’t wanna hear this.”

“Yeah, Dog, I do. Is he not putting out?”

I stare at him. “Turk, a second ago you were worried he was rushing me. Now you’re offended on my behalf that he’s taking things slow?!”

“What’s the problem?”

I stare at my beer bottle morosely. “He’s not ready to have sex. Despite me telling him I’m ready. Like I don't know whether I can deal with it or not.”

“Ah, man.” Turk waves his beer bottle airily. “If you’ve said you’re ready that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, right? Thank you!” I clatter my beer bottle against his in a toast. “Someone thinking sensibly.”

“You know what you have to do, right?”

“Wait until he’s ready…” I mutter.

“Nah, man. You should seduce him.”

“I should… I should _what_?”

“Seduce him.”

I stare at Turk. “What?”

“I mean, considering this is another guy you should have a home advantage, right?”

“What?” I repeat.

Turk rolls his eyes. “You’re a dude, right?”

“Right.”

“And he’s a dude, right?”

“Obviously.”

“So you know what would work if someone was trying to seduce you.”

I frown. “All someone needs to do to seduce me is tell me they’ll have sex with me.”

“Okay, so let’s pretend you _aren’t_ that easy.”

I glare at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, JD. It’s simple, right? Being with another guy _has_ to mean you can predict his behavior more accurately than you can predict a woman’s.”

“Just because you don’t know what excites Carla doesn’t mean it’s because she’s a girl.”

“Ha ha.”

I take a swig of beer. “I’m really not sure your logic is sound there, Turk.”

“I know what turns my woman on.”

“Yeah, she always gives that impression.”

\- - - - -

“Hey, Doctor Cox!”

“Oh, _no_ , Barbie, _no_.”

“No what?”

“Just no. Leave me alone, I don’t need any more advice.”

“Ah, Carla found you?”

“Actually, Mrs MacNeil found me. I know a terrifying amount about octogenarian views on anal sex now.”

Barbie smirks at me. “I’m sure that was enlightening.”

“The elderly are more sexually liberated than you’d expect.”

“Ew.”

“Believe me, I find whatever she says less gross than whatever you’re likely to say.”

She shrugs at me. But I am curious after last night and so begrudgingly say:

“You didn’t seem surprised.”

“Well, no, I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t?”

“Well, obviously not. I was expecting you two to bone ages ago.”

I stare at her. She is apparently unmoved and starts eating a candy bar.

“ _Why_ did you expect that?”

“Duh. The way you two are with each other. But maybe I’ve read too much gay erotica.”

I frown. “TMI, Barbie.” I look away, secretly tempted to ask her to recommend some titles since I’m apparently so clueless.

“Are you worried about him freaking out?”

_Yes._ “No.”

“Are you worried about him running off when it gets too much?”

_Yes._ “No.”

“Are you worried about him committing?”

_Utterly_. “Obviously not, Barbie. We’re not even – we’re not at that stage.”

I look back at her. Her expression says she sees through all my bullshit.

“Well, you shouldn’t be.”

“Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be worried. He’d have run by now if he was going to. _Believe_ me, I can see when he’s going all commitment-phobic. I’ve had plenty experience of that. He isn’t like that with you. I can’t imagine he ever would be.”

I stare at her, an odd feeling of relief coursing through me.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because someone should. I want him to be happy. If that’s you then… well, that’s weird and I don’t understand why, but cool.”

“Flattering as ever, Barbie.”

“Yeah, I wonder why I have a problem with a guy who calls me _Barbie_.”

My cell starts vibrating with an incoming call and I see it’s Newbie. Odd; he usually texts.

“Hey.”

“Heyyyyyyy, sexy.”

I hear giggling in the background. Is that Gandhi?

“Hey who?”

“Hey sexy.”

“Right. Well, you’ve clearly gone insane.”

“Nononono, I haven’t. Are you saying it’s crazy to find you sexy?”

“Obviously not. It’s just not something I’d expect from you.”

“Yeah… yeah, probably not… I need a favor though, so got to flatter you, old man.”

There’s definitely giggling now. I sigh.

“What favor?”

“I need a ride.”

“Oh my God, JD. Like your drunken brother isn’t bad enough, now you need a lift home?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m not off shift for another couple hours.”

“Yayyy, more drinking time!”

I hear a distant “eagllleeee” and then hang up with a sigh.

“Sure, you don’t need anyone’s advice.” Barbie’s smirking at me. “You have totally got this.”

I glare at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think people were expecting a little more drama/fallout, so sorry for any disappointment! I did sit and look at it to try to figure out if I was being too nice, but went with:
> 
> 1\. Everyone was so horrified by Dan and then distracted that they couldn’t immediately react, which is where you’d likely get them properly overreacting  
> 2\. Post-Steve people are maybe slightly less likely to get really annoyed with JD (except Cox because he’s always annoyed with JD)  
> 3\. Turk and Carla spoke about it at home and compared notes which slightly defused both of their reactions. And were both quite disgusted by Dan, so maybe moderated their response to not be like him  
> 4\. If Cox hadn’t shown a slightly vulnerable side then Carla would have gone after him more
> 
> Also, I wanted to write a nice JD-Turk moment and liked the idea of him being outraged on JD’s behalf... :D
> 
> Happy Friday 13th!


	18. 18. My Seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert (if you didn't guess from the title)

JD is slumped against the passenger seat, humming quietly to himself. I glance over at him and see he has a goofy grin on his face. He notices me looking at him and the grin somehow gets even goofier. He puts a hand on my leg.

“I’m driving, Newb.”

“I know…”

“So keep your hands to yourself.”

He releases my knee and giggles. “Are you telling me to touch myself?”

“Nnnnoooo… how much have you had to drink, anyway?”

“Yeah, because you’re one to lecture me on drinking too much.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m trying to cut back.”

“Yeah. I noticed. ‘S nice.”

“How is it ‘nice’, Newbie?”

He shrugs.

“Where did you leave your little _bike_?”

“The Aprilia’s near Turk and Carla’s place. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m giving you a ride tomorrow as well, am I?”

“Yeah…” his hand reappears on my leg. “Stay at my place tonight.”

“What if your brother’s there?”

“I stay at your place? Or we stay at my place and have really loud sex in the shower?”

His hand is wandering back towards my crotch so I growl a warning at him. Chastened, he moves it back down.

“Are you thinking it’ll drive him away or just doing it to annoy him?”

“Either works for me.”

“Fair enough. Newbie, if you try to grab my cock one more time when I’m driving the Porsche I can guarantee you’ll regret it.”

\- - - - -

“Is he back?”

JD’s leaning forward trying to assess what’s happening in the house, his chest nearly touching the dash. I turn the headlights off on the Porsche.

“Did you leave the lights on when you left?”

“No…”

“Then he’s back.”

“Ugh.”

JD frowns at the house for a second longer.

“Really loud sex in the meadow?”

“Stop trying to have really loud sex all over the place.”

He glances at the back seat of the Porsche and then gives me a look I can only describe as absolutely filthy.

“Have you ever had sex on the back seat of the-“

“JD, stop it.”

His mouth snaps shut abruptly before he hangs his head and sits silently. I feel a stab of shame, regretting telling him off when he was being so carefree and silly. I'd have given anything a few weeks ago to have seen him like this. I break the silence:

“What is it?”

I gently stroke a hand through his hair, cupping his jaw and lifting his head back up so he’ll meet my eyes. His expression is an odd combination of irritation and sadness.

“I want to…” he mutters.

“You want to what?”

“I can deal with it…”

I sigh and pull him into my lap. His hip hits the hand brake as I do so and he hisses slightly.

“Sorry.” I murmur into his hair and wrap my arms around him, pulling him flush against me. He wriggles against my chest and looks up at me.

“Have you been talking to Gandhi about our sex life, by any chance?”

He blushes and looks to one side, an embarrassed expression on his face.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re suddenly all leery? Your gal pal gave you some pointers? Did you read Cosmo together?”

He gives me a sad look and I feel uncomfortable again. I try to assuage the guilt by softly kissing his forehead to take the sting out of my words.

“Do you want me to come into the house with you?”

He replies very quietly with “Yes please.”

I tighten my grip on him for a second and then release him. He scrambles out of the door uncomfortably; Porsches weren’t apparently made for lap-sitting. I haul myself out and stand next to him. He slides his hand into mine and I stroke my fingers over his knuckles, feeling the fine tremors lessening as I do so.

“C’mon.” I say to him. “Standing out here holding hands like little girls isn’t going to help.”

Despite saying this I keep my hand wrapped around his as we go towards the house.

\- - - - -

“Johnny.”

To be fair, Dan looks like shit. He’s got a swollen nose and a slight black eye, but the shadows under his eyes and haggard expression show there’s more wrong right now than just the physical pain he’s in. Still, he was an ass and I can’t feel too much pity for him. I narrow my eyes at him and rub a thumb over the soft skin of Newbie’s hand, keeping my fingers resolutely tangled with his.

“Dan.” Newbie responds tonelessly.

“Doctor Cox.”

I frown, not expecting to be acknowledged; and if I was I would expect a “Coxer” or a “Coxsmith”.

“Dan.” I reply, frowning.

“Look, I… I’m sorry. Like, I really don’t think me apologizing makes much difference, but I really am sorry. I deserved the punch in the face.”

He looks at me mournfully.

“You deserved more than just a punch in the face.” I point out flatly. He winces.

“Yeah, probably,” he turns to face JD directly, who’s not showing any expression, almost like he’s wearing a mask. “Johnny, I know this was a big deal for you and you were worried about it and scared how people might react. Me doing that was, like, the worst thing I could have done.”

The mask remains in place, with JD watching Dan patiently. Dan hesitates, clearly expecting some response to that. When none comes he continues:

“I’m really sorry JD. I know you’ve heard it from me so many times it probably doesn’t mean much any more-“

“No, it doesn’t. And yeah, that was the worst thing you could have done. Your life’s a fucking mess and it’s like you just want to contaminate mine with your shit.”

Dan’s mouth opens and then closes, like a fish out of water. JD sighs and then turns to start going up the stairs.

“Johnny, I-“

“Just leave it, Dan. I don’t know why I really expected anything better from you.” He looks over at me. “Are you coming?”

I hurry after him, passing a dejected-looking Dan. An unexpected wave of sympathy washes over me and I mutter “Talk to him tomorrow. And possibly wear ear plugs tonight”.

\- - - - -

“Do you think I was too harsh on him?”

JD’s sat on the bed with the gray throw wrapped around him. After his cold treatment of Dan he seemed to want some comfort, changing into jogging pants and a long-sleeved top and wrapping himself into the soft fleecey material of the throw. I look back at him, halfway through stripping and wonder whether honesty is the best policy.

“Well… it definitely seemed to surprise him.”

“That’s a ‘yes’, right?”

“It’s a ‘maybe, but he deserved it’. Are you trying to hibernate?”

He reluctantly burrows out of the throw as I sit next to him on the bed.

“I just… didn’t want to hear him apologize _again_. I’m sick of it.”

“I know, Newbie.”

I slide under the duvet and he follows, sprawling onto my chest. I run a hand up his back and trail it slowly back down to his ass as he tucks his head under my chin.

“I know I said about noisy sex, but I’m not really in the mood.”

"Ah. Would it change your mind if I told you that an elderly woman called me handsome today? Although she did also think I was gay."

"You are a little bit gay."

I nearly reply with "only for you" and then immediately reject that because - well, ugh.

“I'm shocked that your drunken, clumsy sexual advances earlier were all bullshit, Newbie.”

“… Sorry about that…”

“It’s alright, JD, I’m not in the mood either. I’m not sure I want Dan hearing what I sound like when I orgasm anyway.”

“He already knows what you look like, after all.”

“Shut up and go to sleep, Newbie.”

\- - - - -

As ever, JD gets up at Godawful o’clock in the morning to go running. I’m relieved he seems to be out for a much more respectable forty minutes this time (I was not timing him, obviously, I just happened to be awake and notice the time, _obviously_ ). He also slams the door loudly when leaving and returning. I’m pretty certain he’s doing it to wake Dan up.

He also then tries to get me to shower with him. I don’t particularly feel like helping him in his slightly vindictive plan to make Dan hugely uncomfortable, so decline, despite how appealing he looks in his running gear with his hair all over the place.

I think he’s fine with it, even though he throws a towel at my head when he comes out of the shower.

“You need to get up.”

I push the towel back from my eyes and look over at him as he starts getting dressed.

“Charming, Newbie. Why do I need to get up?”

“Because I need to go to work in about fifteen minutes.”

“And?”

“And I need a lift, remember?”

Ah, I forgot about his polite request from yesterday.

“I didn’t realize I was signing up to be your personal chauffeur.”

“You _said_ ,” he responds sulkily.

“I didn’t, actually, you just put me in a position where I had to come get you.” He opens his mouth to protest. “Quit bitching, Newbie, I’ll give you a lift. Just give me a second.”

I haul myself out of bed and yawn. JD’s bed may be designer chic, but it’s not all that comfortable, it gives me back ache.

“I’m gonna go shower.” I tell him.

“We could have showered together, it would’ve saved time.”

“What you were planning would not have saved time.”

He smirks at me. Presumably I didn’t piss him off though, since when I come back from the shower I find he’s laid out some clothes for me; looking more closely they’re ones I’ve worn here before and forgotten about that he’s laundered for me. As appears to be standard with him, he’s gone off and hidden somewhere to avoid being caught out doing something thoughtful. My mind wanders back to the bottle of scotch in the kitchen and I feel an odd emotion, somewhere between warmth and fear. It’s oxymoronic, so I ignore it and hurriedly dress and go downstairs.

And talking of _moronic_ , I can hear Dan apparently trying to apologize to Newbie again. I reach the bottom of the stairs and find Dan and Newbie in the kitchen, Dan continuing to profusely apologize whilst Newbie drinks a smoothie and looks like a study in utter indifference. JD’s put his biking leathers on and somehow manages to look mildly adorable in something that would make anyone else look badass.

I mean, even the tattoo is cute. He really should stop trying, although the trying is kinda appealing in itself.

“You ready to go?” I call across to him. He nods.

“Do you want a smoothie?”

“I have no desire to drink a load of pulped fruit, Jocelyn. Come on.”

Dan gives me a helpless look. When JD’s unlocked the door and left Dan is suddenly next to me.

“ _Please_ talk to him.”

I sigh. “I don’t think I’ll make any-“

“Of course you will, he hangs on your every word.”

I frown and then suddenly realize why Dan was so pissed at me. He doesn’t understand how much the dynamic between Newbie and I has changed – after Gourley and particularly now.

“He doesn’t, you know. He really does see me for what I am now, not what he wants me to be.”

“Wow. And he still wants to be with you?”

I growl. “And this is you asking for help?”

\- - - - -

“Are you going to lay off your brother?”

“Huh?”

“Focus, JD. Are you going to lay off Dan?”

“I’m not laying _on_ him.”

“… Thanks for that mental image. You know what I mean.”

There’s a pause and then he replies sulkily. “Yeah, I will do soon.”

“Why wait?”

“Because he really did piss me off. And because he’s not _laying on_ us right now because he feels too guilty. I thought if I kept it up then he’d at least accept it when I did speak to him again.”

I glance at him in surprise. “That’s remarkably smart.”

“Thanks.”

“For you.”

“… Thanks…”

“And manipulative.”

“Great, I can just walk to where I parked the Aprilia, you know?”

“And deprive me of your sparkling wit as you stare out of the window and daydream? How will I cope?”

It really is weird that him being all spaced out frequently is something I welcome. I can practically see his ridiculous daydreams on his face again. Knowing at least some (aw, heck, why am I being modest, almost all of them) are about me is strangely… pleasing.

“Is it okay if I come over tonight?” he asks me.

“Yeah, sure. When does your shift finish?”

“Eight. Any plans for your day off?”

“Nothing to speak of.”

\- - - - -

I sit in Gillespie’s waiting room and frown at the receptionist. The frown has no impact.

Am I losing it? Everyone is ignoring my intimidating mannerisms. Apart from when I don’t want them to, like those damn residents. I try glaring at the receptionist whilst simultaneously wanting him to smile at me. The look he gives me in response suggests I look unhinged.

Well, I guess that’s a result. Sort of.

“Doctor Cox? Mr Gillespie will see you now.”

The receptionist looks extremely glad that I’ll be leaving his immediate surrounds. I nod to him and walk through to Gillespie’s consulting room. He’s standing at his desk, today wearing a sports coat, chinos and sneakers. Good Lord.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask brusquely. Gillespie nods towards the couch and I reluctantly sit, feeling like a lion being unwillingly tamed by some tiny ringmaster.

“I had an interesting session with JD recently.”

“I thought it was inappropriate to discuss your other patients with me?”

“Yes, well, under the circumstances I thought you may want to discuss it.”

“Discuss what?” I snap. Gillespie smiles slightly.

“JD was surprised that I wasn’t surprised by his news.”

“That sounds like a double negative. And, what, you want me to be amazed by your fantastic insight into our characters? Nahwt happening, Dr Lecter.”

He continues smiling placidly at me and I try to think of other psychiatrists to insult him with.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about _what_ , Dr Crane?”

“About your relationship with JD. And _I’m listening_.”

“Oh, good Lord.”

When he doesn’t reply I sigh. “No, I don’t particularly want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not something in my life that I think needs psychoanalyzing.”

Gillespie frowns. “I didn’t plan on psychoanalyzing it. But you’re in a relationship-“

“Woah there, I don’t know if I’d call it _that_.” I have absolutely been calling it that in my mind, but I need to keep standards up.

“Fine, if you’re in a potential relationship with someone with JD’s history I’d have thought that could have an impact on you.” He pauses. “Do you think the relationship needs psychoanalyzing?”

‘No.”

“Do you think your response to him does?”

 _Yes._ “No.”

Gillespie frowns at me. "What are you not saying?"

"Literally everything, I have no desire to talk about it."

"You flinched when I asked about your response to JD. What's bothering you?"

I stubbornly glare at him. When this has no impact (what is with everyone today?) I sigh. "You aren't going to like this."

"Probably not. What is it?"

"Gourley made a comment when I was getting JD out of his damn house. I don't know if he mentioned, but I went there after JD moronically ran off to Gourley's house when he was high on painkillers and sedatives. Gourley basically said he saw how I looked at JD and... implied that it was in a similar way to the way he looked at him."

"And you believed that?"

"I have no reason _not_ to believe that."

"Despite how you react to him being in pain? Being scared? That it clearly distresses you?"

I look at him blankly. I am not going to say to Gillespie that I'm scared I could be just like Gourley, he'll have a duty to tell Newbie that I'm a danger to him and then Newbie will absolutely run for the hills like he should have done as soon as I tried to drunkenly kiss him. I decide to change the subject to try to throw Gillespie off.

“How am I supposed to deal with him when he – when he’s trying to- when he moves too fast?“

“Are you referring to his readiness for full penetrative sex?”

I stare at him. “Wow, there really are no secrets between you two girls.”

That apparently doesn’t land anywhere, with Gillespie just smiling benignly at me. When he doesn’t reply I sigh again. “Yes, I mean that. He’s pushing for something _I’m_ not ready for and I’m pretty sure he isn’t either.”

“Why don’t you think he is?”

I glare at him. “He was _raped_ , of course he’s not ready for it.”

“If he says he is you should take that into account.”

“Are you saying he is?”

“I’m saying he believes he is. I think taking things slow is sensible, but ignoring his views will just make him feel more like a victim.”

I shrug. He has a point, but…

“But surely he _shouldn’t_ want to? Hell, I don’t even understand how he can bear to have me touch him, let alone…”

“There’s no correct response to what happened to JD. He needs to react as he feels he needs to. This can manifest as more extreme versions of pre-existent behaviors.”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?”

“For example, someone who is already introverted and experiences trauma may become more so. Exaggerated behaviors are surprisingly common.”

“So… he’s what, being more himself?”

“No, he often exhibits withdrawn behavior that seems uncharacteristic of how he describes himself before the attack. It’s not quite that simple.”

“But… well, what?”

“I guess I’m just saying that you should let him react as he needs to and support him. Don't just assume he's acting in a certain way because of the trauma, he could well have acted that way beforehand. From some of his comments during therapy I'd assess that before the attack he had quite an active sex life. He certainly seems to have issues with impulse control currently and I suspect that is an exaggerated previous behavior."

I'm pretty sure that's Gillespie’s polite pyschobabble for saying that Newbie thinks with his cock.

“So I should go along with whatever batshit crazy thing he does?”

‘No, but you should listen to him and not assume he’s constantly a ‘victim’. Believe me, treating him like that and removing his control will alienate him and do more damage than the good you think you’re doing by protecting him.”

I narrow my eyes. “Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“Sorry. Habits of the profession.”

There’s a sullen silence for a minute, before Gillespie interrupts it.

“Incidentally, I’m disappointed that Dr Bellows and Dr Freedman didn’t feature earlier.”

I glare at him.

\- - - - -

I wonder if I should mention any of what I spoke about with Gillespie to Newbie. When the doorbell rings at nine I’m still debating it as I let Newbie in. He’s wearing his leathers and looks flushed.

“You’re later than I thought you’d b-“

I’m pretty effectively silenced by him grabbing me and kissing me hard, pressing himself up against me, unyielding and demanding. I step back to catch my balance and he closes the distance between us, pinning me against the door as he continues to kiss me.

At least we’re on the right side of the door this time.

I groan into his mouth and twist my tongue against his, wrapping my arms around his waist. He surges up against me and I pull away to breathe and check what the hell is going on. He’s staring at me, his pupils dilated and panting slightly.

“Did something happen?”

He looks momentarily confused. “No. What do you mean?”

“I just wanted to check you weren’t upset about something.”

“No, I just was looking forward to seeing you.” He kisses along my neck as he speaks and slides a hand under my shirt. My cock, already happy to see him, is encouraged by this.

I don’t feel like this is the full story, but I’m getting distracted by what he’s doing to my nipples and the way his thigh is pressing against my erection. Which is definitely not accidental, incidentally. Devious little bastard.

“You remember when I came in here and kissed you that first time?” He breathes it against my ear before continuing to kiss my throat. My breath hitches slightly in response and I drop a hand down to cup his ass.

“Yeah.”

He pulls back and looks at me thoughtfully. He’s dishevelled, flushed and breathing heavily, his hair awry, both of his hands under my shirt and his thigh lifted slightly to press against my erection. I’ve somehow ended up with both my hands cupping his ass, apparently having moved on their own accord. I’m gazing at him and know I’ve got an embarrassingly rapt expression on my face in response to how he’s looking.

“You remember when I said I wasn’t wearing anything under the leathers that time?”

“Yeah.”

He suddenly grins at me devilishly. If I thought he looked hot before then he’s just roughly reached the temperature of the sun. He leans forward and whispers to me:

“Guess what I’ve got on under this?”

I think I just stopped breathing entirely.

And I’ve now started breathing again and am using the oxygen to fuel the very important task of kissing him hard, pushing against him up against the wall as aggressively as he was with me a second ago, tugging at his jacket to confirm that – oh, God, yes, he is actually naked under there. He makes a pleased moaning sound, arching his back and practically purring when I drop a hand down to his hip, stroking my fingers over his skin, enjoying the feel of the heated, firm flesh under my hand.

There’s a warning siren going off in the back of my mind somewhere that I’m ignoring. His skin is hot and flushed, much more so than usual. I’d worry that he’s got a fever, but he’s grinding his erection against me and I’m pretty certain he’s just really turned on. I roughly shove his pants down to free his cock and he gasps against my lips as I run a thumb over it’s head, feeling precome, knowing it’s smeared inside his pants as well, knowing his usual prissiness has been beaten into submission or ignored. Was he seriously this turned on just planning this, was he this turned on thinking how much it would turn me on?

The warning siren is now increasing in volume and trying to make itself known, but I’m continuing to ignore it. His boots are still on and stopping me from being able to drag his pants off, so I pull him into a bridal lift, carrying him through to the bedroom and depositing him onto the bed before working off his boots and pants. Free of them, he arches his back again and pulls me down against his body, writhing almost sensually against me as he wraps a leg around my waist.

Jesus, he’s managed to flip us over, something I wasn’t expecting. He’s now kissing me hard and making short work of removing my clothes, scrambling at the buttons and making up for what he lacks in grace with enthusiasm. Soon I’m naked and he’s naked apart from the leather jacket that he’s wearing unzipped from when I got distracted from taking it off of him. He's on top of me, kissing me; we've actually barely stopped since he arrived at the apartment, alternating between harsh, angry kisses that cause our teeth to clash and softer, gentler ones where we're more teasingly sliding our tongues against one another. 

I reach for his cock and he blocks my hand, stroking down my chest with one hand whilst the other is reaching into his jacket pocket for something. He finally stops kissing me and as I gasp for air he kisses down my chest, following where his hand was stroking a second ago. His hand has now dropped to my erection to stroke over my swollen flesh.

To my shock, he continues the theme of his mouth emulating his hand a moment later.

I make an embarrassing wail as he takes my cock into his mouth and then slowly slides his tongue along the length. Oh _God,_ oh my God, he’s-

I scramble up onto my elbows and stare at him, watching him bob his head up and down on me, surprisingly gracefully. He’s varying the pressure, occasionally licking or scraping his teeth lightly over me, keeping my cock quite shallowly in his mouth. He glances up at me as he does it and then takes me as deeply as he can.

My head falls back as I groan loudly. It’s not the deepest anyone’s ever done this – not by a long shot, actually – but there’s something so unexpected and assured about the way he’s being that it could be the sloppiest, least technical blow job in the world and I’d still be mesmerized by him.

JD chokes slightly and pulls back, obviously trying to take in more than he can manage. He returns to shallowly moving on me, using his hand to gently squeeze the base of my cock as he does so. Oh God, has he been practicing, what the-

Wait, Gourley didn’t make him do this, did he?

He pulls off my cock as I have this thought, which is the mental equivalent of having a bucket of cold water thrown over me. As a result I’m alert enough to see him take what he had in his pocket and start to rip it open. It’s a condom.

The warning siren screams at me and I finally manage to clearly think through my sex-addled mind. Oh, the little bastard, he’s trying to seduce me.

I sit up abruptly and catch his hands in mine.

“JD, stop!”

He looks at me, all flushed skin and dilated pupils and messy hair. “What?”

“Stop it, we’re not doing that.”

He looks confused for a moment more, since apparently his mind is still powered entirely by his hormones. When he finally understands what I mean a look of crushing disappointment runs across his face. It’s quickly replaced by an expression of furious frustration that makes him look almost tearful.

“ _Why?_ ”

Oh my God, I feel like I’ve had this conversation with him at least ten times by now.

“You know why.” I try to catch his face in my hands, but he pulls back, his oddly frustrated and disconsolate expression still fixed in place.

“Why not? You clearly _want_ to.”

He nudges my erection, which I’m ashamed to say is still there, despite that horrible moment of considering Gourley doing – no, don’t think that, _no_ –

“And I want to, so what’s the problem?”

“The _problem_ , JD, is that I’ve already told you I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Yeah, I know you did, but-“

“And, to be frank, it’s starting to really piss me off that you’re ignoring what I’m saying I can deal with.”

He still looks furious, but I notice the slight sheen to his eyes and realize how close to tears he is. I’m about to say something more conciliatory when he replies:

“But… but I was all prepared and…”

“Yes, JD, but I’m _not_. You can’t just spring something like this on me and expect me to go along with it.”

He’s dropped the angry look entirely now and I think I might have preferred it. He just looks crushed now.

“… but I thought it all through…”

He looks so morose and dejected that I wrap an arm around his waist underneath the jacket, despite still feeling really pissed with him.

“You can’t just put on some leather without underwear and expect me to fall at your feet.” I chide him softly.

“... I didn’t just do that…”

“Oh?” I kiss his cheek gently and then kiss just under his eye to wipe away the slight tear track I find there. Mainly to humor him I ask “What else did you do, then, hey? What was your plan?”

He rubs a hand across his face in another one his annoyingly endearing habits and frowns at me.

“You’re not interested so-“

“Tell me.”

He looks suspiciously at me and then sighs. “Well, I spent way too much time reading articles about how to give a good blow job.”

“Oh, is that how you learned that?” Oh my God, I’m so relieved.

“Yeah, I hate to think what sort of adverts I’m gonna get because of my browser history now.”

“What else?” I kiss along his jawline.

“Well I… I was all prepared…”

I frown at him. “Yeah, you said that earlier. Does it take that much preparation to get into leather with nothing underneath?”

He looks embarrassed. “Actually, yeah, it does, I had to put a load of baby powder on to stop it from chafing. But I don’t mean that. I mean… well, I mean I _prepared_ myself.”

At my blank expression he gestures at his ass, a particularly awkward look on his face.

Oh, _oh._

I can’t help grinning. “Is that why you were all hot and bothered when you came in?”

He glares at me. My grin widens.

“Where did you do _that_?”

“At the hospital,” he mutters. “There’s a lot of… lubricant available…”

“And what, you did that then you finished your shift and-“

“No, I did it _after_ my shift had ended, I wouldn’t have been any use if I did it during.”

I growl. “Did you touch yourself while you did it? Thinking of me-?”

My cock is pressing against his leg again. He frowns at me. “You can’t refuse to have sex and then get turned on by me telling you this.”

“ _Au contraire_ , Newbie. Anyway, that’s all very well, but how were you planning on actually having the sex? I would have eventually picked up on it, no matter how much blood you managed to successfully divert to my cock.”

He shrugs. “Well, I knew you were worried about hurting me and… and stuff…”

“Yeah?”

“So I was planning on riding you.”

Oh. Oh, he had considered what I had been saying and had obviously thought he had successfully figured out a way to alleviate my concerns. At least he was thinking about my feelings, something I had been assuming he had been ignoring.

Wait, what, my _feelings_? What am I becoming?

An image of him doing as he’s describing is repeatedly trying to surface in my mind. I’m trying my best to ignore it because, God, it’s appealing.

“I researched that too,” he tells me glumly.

He’s still sat in my lap as I sit up clumsily to keep eye contact. I pull myself up further and back to lean against the headboard, dragging him along with me, and then gently pull the leather jacket from his shoulders. Then I wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me. He’s rigid for a moment before relaxing into my hold and I nuzzle his hair.

“Look, I know you’re frustrated, but please don’t try to manipulate me into doing things I’ve told you I’m not ready for.”

He drops his head against my shoulder and then peers at me sadly through his hair.

“’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I just…”

“I know.”

He stays leaning against me for a moment longer and then pulls back. A salacious grin has reappeared on his face.

“Oh God, what are you planning now?”

“Well, I was just thinking, maybe if I _showed_ you that it was okay then you wouldn’t be so worried.”

“JD, I’m not going to-“

“No, I don’t mean that. I could adapt my original plan, that’s all.”

“Adapt it how?”

He’s stroking a hand over mine and then runs a thumb down one of my fingers and grins at me.

 _Oh_.

“I mean, that’s a medical procedure you’ll have done plenty.”

“With gloves.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a medical professional too. Believe me, I was thorough.”

He… he gave himself an enema as well as… _oh._

“You really did prepare.” I say, my voice sounding strained.

The images of him riding me I was having earlier are reappearing. And the sickening fear I’ve been experiencing of hurting him, of getting carried away or, God help me, humiliating and hurting him turning me on is not coming with the idea of him doing that, of him being in control.

My main concern is accidentally hurting him and feeling some sick pleasure from it. And I _know_ this is from the poisonous shit that Gourley put into my head, that all I feel when he’s hurt is rage, but even the slightest possibility of it terrifies me. And – to put it bluntly – fucking his ass seems almost certain to hurt him. To degrade him and humiliate him and I _don’t_ want that.

But what he’s suggesting – hell, actually his original plan as well – doesn’t sound like that. Not at all.

It suddenly hits me that him wanting me to fuck him isn’t something he sees as humiliating and degrading. I’m pretty sure some of the reason is to prove to himself that he can do it, but it’s also… well, it’s also exactly the same reason anyone wants to have sex with someone they’re close to, someone who means a lot to them.

“What do you think?” he asks anxiously, jerking me out of my reverie.

“Yes,” I say breathlessly and kiss him.

He’s lost some of his aggressive confidence from earlier, although that lecherous grin makes me think it’ll probably come back quick enough. His fingers trace softly down my chest as he kisses me back, his tongue pliable against mine. I slide away from the headboard and wrap one arm around his waist as I use the other to brace against the bed, keeping myself in a sitting position with him straddled over my lap. He tentatively drops a hand down to stroke my cock and I groan into his mouth. In response his movements become surer and he starts to fondle my erection more firmly.

I tighten my grip around his waist and then flip us back over so he’s underneath me again, not breaking the kiss. He briefly loses his grip on my cock before catching hold of it again and carrying on. God, that makes it hard to concentrate. I pull back from his mouth and then snag his hand in mine.

“You keep that up and I’m not going to last, Newbie.”

He grins. I briefly press a kiss to his lips – more a smooch, if I’m honest, but I’m not going to admit that if asked. _I_ don’t _smooch_.

“Show me what you want me to do.” I murmur to him.

For a second he looks surprised, then a look of such gratitude runs over his face it makes my stomach churn slightly. He appreciates my allowing him to control it, I realize. I mean, I always preferred a more sexually assertive partner, I just didn’t really expect him to be like that, particularly after what happened. I think about what Gillespie said for a second – that there’s no standard response – and figure it’s just how he is. Presumably if we’d gotten together before all of that shit then this would have been what he would have been like then. 

My thoughts are interrupted by JD’s slim fingers wrapping around my hand and guiding me slowly but firmly between his legs. He wriggles slightly, lifting a leg up to sling it over my waist.

“You okay?” I check with him.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Despite this declaration, he doesn’t move for a moment. Then he moves my hand to press against… oh…

One of my fingers slides in and he really wasn’t joking about preparing. He feels hot and slick and tight around me. There’s a slight resistance, his muscles not fully relaxed. I experimentally press further, gliding up to my metacarpophalangeal joint in his slippery, snug heat. His leg wrapped up over my waist twitches in response and he gasps.

“Is that alright?”

I can feel his cock throbbing against my stomach and my own pulsing in response.

“Yeah… oh God…”

I thrust shallowly with my finger a couple times and his breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering. Part of me is questioning what the hell I’m doing with my fingers up another guy’s ass (for non-medical reasons) and thinking I should find this whole thing somehow debauched, but that doesn’t feel true. With anyone else, yeah, this would be weird, but not with him. With him it’s just… sexy.

With him it’s just perfect.

I withdraw my finger nearly fully and then add a second. The choked, pleasured sound he makes in response is indecently erotic.

The resistance and pressure is slightly more this time, although apparently still not enough to hurt him. I suspect he was pretty thorough with his preparation for it to be this easy, for him to be this relaxed. Because he wanted to enjoy it and for me to enjoy it. I briefly imagine what this would feel like with my cock, not my fingers and my erection throbs suddenly, a slick of precome drooling out and over JD’s stomach. He doesn’t seem to notice, his head thrown back, neck exposed, panting.

I wonder if he can take three fingers – if he’ll turn into more into a gasping, quivering mess is response – when he unexpectedly pipes up:

“I thought I was trying to show you what I had planned.”

His voice is tight, strained and lower in pitch than usual. He manages to meet my gaze, although seems slightly wobbly, the pleasure and intensity visible in his eyes.

“Well, sorry Princess.” I kiss him. “There was me thinking you were enjoying this.”

“Hm.” He grins. “Pull out so I can get on top.”

I’m am oh-so tempted to ignore this and see if my guess was right about how he’d react to a third finger, but don’t want him to feel like he’s lost control. I reluctantly remove my fingers; they feel cold and somehow remote as a result. I lean down and kiss him.

“Okay, Newbie. But I’m revisiting this later. Out of medical curiosity, obviously.”

“Sure you are.”

I roll onto my back and he clambers on top of me. I stroke a hand up his thigh and cup his ass, tightening my grasp on the firm muscle.

“What do you want me to do?”

He takes my hand and moves it to my hip, turning it so it’s palm up. Then he extends two of my fingers and lets go. I nod at him and keep them in place before he straightens his legs, shuffles forward and then lowers himself down onto my outstretched fingers.

We both moan as I enter him. He splays his hands on my stomach to steady himself and bites his lip, his eyes closed. Fuck, the tight, velvety heat of him engulfs my fingers and I groan again as my cock twitches without any direct stimulation. He slides down to my knuckles and pauses, panting.

And then he begins to move and - oh my God.

He starts slowly, shallowly rocking his hips and moving a few inches up and down, but builds his pace steadily, extending his thigh muscles to jerk higher on me each time. He flushed, erect cock bobs as he does so. I want to reach for him, to stroke him until he orgasms, but can’t figure out the right rhythm and so move my other hand to steady his lower back and support him. He moves one of his hands off my stomach in response and starts to pump my cock in the same tempo as he’s moving on my fingers, essentially allowing me to thrust up into his fist as he fucks himself on my fingers. Almost, but not quite, like he’s riding my cock as he originally planned.

“Oh my God, oh _fuck_ , JD…”

He gasps and moves at a more punishing pace, slamming himself into me and occasionally making slight yelping sounds as I hit his prostate. I experiment by thrusting my fingers up against him as he lowers himself down. He cries out in pleasure in response, his voice high, his thighs shaking and his grip tightening on my cock fitfully. I thrust up over and over again with my fingers, my cock mirroring the action. His entire body starts to tremble in response, his eyes opening to gaze down at me, a wavering groan coming from deep within his throat.

I realize he’s going to orgasm soon, he’s panting and flushed and I can see his stomach muscles tensing spasmodically. Precome drools down his swollen, heavy cock, which is twitching every so often. He looks almost indecently hot. I move my hand away from his back and start to steadily fist his cock.

“Look at me.” I growl at him.

His eyes raise to mine as he gasps with each breath. He meets my gaze as I thrust my fingers and cock up into him as I firmly jerk him off. The combination of this and my fingers inside him hitting him in just the right place is enough to undo him. He cries out almost shrilly and then comes hard. I feel his internal muscles ripple and contract around my fingers in time with his orgasm, his hand stuttering on my cock. The rhythm isn’t there any more, but his reaction and my fingers being steadily squeezed by him is enough combined with his sporadic hand movements is enough to send me over the edge.

\- - - - -

We’re sprawled together afterwards, him lying against my side as I feel his heart slowly return to a normal beat and his trembling slowly lessen.

“That was… wow.”

I kiss his sweaty hair. “Very eloquent as ever, Newbie. Thanks for the praise though.”

“I was talking about me. You just lay there.”

“Yeah I did. And even barely moving I still made you come so hard your eyes rolled back in your head.”

He scoffs quietly and I hug him closer to me. He tucks his head under my chin and lets out a shuddering sigh.

“You okay?” I check.

“Yeah, just tired.”

I frown and try to figure out how to word what I’m aiming to say. “So… having done that, I’m not… I’m not averse to your original plan.”

I feel him twitch slightly and then prop himself up to scrutinize my face more closely. I look sideways at him.

“You want to have sex?”

I’m tempted to point out that we just had sex, but even I’m getting sick of how pedantic I’m being about that now. “Yeah.”

He grins at me. I roll my eyes. “However Newbie, I am _nahwt_ just dancing to your tune. We discuss it in advance and we both know when it’s going to happen. You don’t just decide and I go along with it when you jump me. You understand.”

His grin widens and he nods. I glare at him.

“I swear to God, Newbie, if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face I’ll do it for you.”

\- - - - -

He still has the smug grin on his face when he falls asleep, curled up against me. I decide to pretend that I haven't noticed and that I certainly don't have a similar ridiculous grin on my face as I fall asleep, my arm wrapped around his waist.


	19. 19. My Cold Water

I wake up, wrapped in Perry and still feeling pleased with myself. He’s still asleep, snoring very slightly, although he’s too vain to ever admit that. I wriggle over to glance at my cell to check the time; 0612. I don’t really feel like going for a run though – if I’m going to be brutally honest, my ass is slightly sore and I don’t want to let Perry know. He’ll feel bad and possibly delay what he _finally_ agreed to last night.

He tightens his grip on me in his sleep and mutters something nondescript into my hair before falling back into a deep slumber.

I wriggle back around and wrap my arms around him, feeling him sigh in response and snuggle up against me. I kiss his forehead and tangle my legs with his, inhaling the clean, comforting scent of him. I smile sleepily and close my eyes. I can totally hit snooze this morning.

\- - - - -

“Newbie.”

“Mnuh?”

“Newbie.”

“Whu’?”

“For God’s sake, JD. Can you actually sleep through natural disasters?” I’m prodded and I grunt.

“What?”

I crack my eyes open and focus on him with difficulty.

“Are you on shift today?”

“Noooo.”

“Are you planning on getting up any time soon?”

“’S’warm here.”

He pulls the duvet off me, rather cruelly in my opinion. I groan again and sit up, trying to glare at him. He smirks in response.

“What?” I ask grumpily.

“You look like a pissed cockatoo.”

I’m pretty sure if I was more awake I could make some innuendo-laden pun with that, but just groan for a third time and rub my eyes.

“Now, Duchess, you can’t go back to sleep, there’s work to be done.”

“Shower.”

“Yeah, in a minute, Newbie. I was going to fix breakfast. What do you want?”

I glance down at myself and flinch. “Clothes.”

“Nawht hugely nutritious, Newbie.”

He walks over to the dresser and after a second tosses a T shirt and boxers at me. I stagger upright and pull them on before walking into his broad chest.

“Ow.”

“I’m starting to be genuinely concerned you’ve got some sort of zombie virus, Newb. Can you give me any words above two syllables? Maybe string a sentence together?”

All I can think to say is “fuck off”, which is clearly still only two syllables. I frown, rub my eyes again and look at him blearily.

“What were you going to make for breakfast?”

“Good Lord, she speaks. I was going to make waffles.”

“I could eat a waffle.”

He rolls his eyes. “How gracious. C’mon, I’m just making coffee.”

I trail after him into his spartan apartment kitchen and clamber onto a bar stool, trying not to obviously wince when my ass protests at the movement.

“Does Dan know you’re here?”

“I messaged him last night that I wouldn’t be back.”

“Was that before or after you lubricated yourself at Sacred Heart?”

I frown at him and choose to plead the fifth.

“That does kinda bring us quite nicely to something we need to discuss though.”

“Oh? I thought that was sorted.” I take the coffee he passes me, relieved he’s bought some creamer. I wonder if I can manipulate him into buying caramel drizzle.

“Well, for one thing, don’t go doing _that_ ahead of it. I’d rather treat that as part of foreplay, not you being disturbingly clinical in some bathroom in Sacred Heart, no matter how hot I found the idea of it last night.”

I look into the coffee, trying to hide myself blushing. “I was trying to surprise you.”

“I know. It was one hell of a surprise, Newbie, I’m not gonna lie. Just… let’s figure this out together, alright? Not you plotting and then trying to spring shit on me.”

“’kay.”

_I’m totally not doing an enema together though, that’s absolutely never going to be “part of foreplay”._

_Perry with his arms wrapped around me from behind, “Ghost” pottery style, looking longingly into my eyes as he lays his hands over mine as I grasp an anal douche._

_Oh my God, what is wrong with me?_

“Lizzy, am I interrupting something grandiose and important in that dainty little skull of your’s?”

“Sorry.”

“We also need to discuss when and where we do it. I figure it should probably be at your place. That’d be more comfortable for you, right?”

“I… I guess. Dan’s there though.”

“Send him out to see a movie?”

“Maybe he’ll leave soon.”

“I think if you want that then you’ll need to forgive him. Or he’ll hang around forever.”

“Smelling like eggs.”

“Exactly.”

I sigh. “Yeah, sure. Do we have to plan this all out? It feels like some sort of military operation, can’t it just be spontaneous?”

“Like last night, you mean? Newbie, you plotted that out like a Marine Corps General, what bullshit are you pulling here?”

“Sorry.”

“I mean, a Marine Corps General covered in glitter. Riding a unicorn. But still…”

“Yeah yeah, okay, I get it.” I frown. “When are we next both off shift?”

We compare and confirm it’s Friday, so I suggest Thursday evening. Which is four days away. We both share a slightly nervous glance and then agree to that, before Perry, apparently relieved at confirming the date (who’s a glittery General now?) turns to make the waffles.

I grin idiotically at his back when he does so.

\- - - - -

After all my various attempts to get to this (also known as “bullshitting” by Perry), I’m actually now kinda nervous as we’ve set a date. It makes it feel horribly like an appointment and so I end up worrying about it far more than I expected. The first couple days pass in a blur of anxiety and work. Tuesday, however, stands out as particularly awful by being the first day Perry and I are on the same shift pattern since my brother decided to out us in the most embarrassing way possible.

(Incidentally, I did tell him I forgave him when I got back Perry’s place on Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to inspire him to leave, but he’s at least not constantly either drunk or moping any more. He just keeps telling me how happy he is that we’re speaking again, to the extent that I want to retract my forgiveness.)

I’ve seen both Carla and Elliot since, but managed to avoid them saying anything about it by immediately moving any conversation away from the topic. That’s worked well on Elliot, who can be easily prodded into talking about herself on any occasion. It’s much harder with Carla and me loudly changing the subject (and even shouting “banana hammock” on one occasion) has just resulted in her looking unimpressed and me hiding in the bathroom. It’ll be so much harder to avoid the subject when he’s literally standing right there in front of us.

I try and lessen the opportunities for awkwardness by arriving fifteen minutes before my shift was due to start and beating the Porsche to the car lot. I park the Aprilia, hurriedly get inside, change into my scrubs and then hang around uselessly for another ten minutes, trying to avoid anyone. It seems that nobody has mentioned anything yet, but I’ve been working in hospitals long enough to know that gossip practically becomes a living organism and spreads everywhere. It’s more infectious than Hepatitis. And I’m well aware that this is particularly gossip-worthy; not only does it involve Doctor Cox (well known as terrifying, remote and therefore _very_ worth gossiping about), a relationship within the hospital (common, but still always juicy), a same-sex relationship between two previously apparent heterosexuals ( _extremely_ unusual and people always enjoys trying to figure out the logistics – although I have no idea who would think _I_ would top Perry) and also possibly is in contravention of HR rules around relationships between doctors and their subordinates.

Actually, I should probably check on whether I need to do anything about that. It’s not like Perry writes any reports on my performance any more or anything, but it might be viewed as inappropriate.

How am I supposed to check _that_ though? Go to Kelso and casually ask him?

_“Sport, I absolutely do not need to know what you get up to in your free time. And now Cox is a literal pain in your ass as well as mine?”_

Oh God, I just burst out laughing after standing vacantly and daydreaming. Great, now everyone is staring at me, which is the opposite of keeping a low profile. And Perry has, of course, arrived into the hospital around five seconds before I did that and is now giving me a withering look.

Argh.

I hastily retreat and go find Turk, who has joined me in my campaign to constantly change the subject when anyone mentions Perry. We’re calling it the Crusaders of the Lost Straightness. It’s apparently what Super Chocolate Bears were born to do.

It’s fine for Perry, everyone’s so scared of him that no one will dare ask him anything, with the possible exception of Carla. Unfortunately I’m the easy target if anyone scents blood. Rumor blood.

“Hey, Turk!”

“What’s up, JD?”

I pull a face. “Today is gonna be weird. And awkward.”

“Dude, just chill.”

I groan and lean onto the nurses’ station, dropping my head into my hands. “How am I supposed to chill?”

“It’s like any other day.”

I lift my head out my hands and frown at him.

“What? I see Carla at work all the time, it’s no big deal.”

I copy Perry’s withering look from earlier and try it out on him.

“You okay, man? You look like you got stomach ache.”

Clearly not my best effort.

\- - - - -

Everything’s good until lunch, with Perry either respecting my concerns about not wanting people to know right now or else he’s just too embarrassed to be associated with me after my spacing out and then laughing earlier. It’s probably the spacing out, if I’m honest. I am kinda embarrassing.

Lunch is going as usual, with Turk, Elliot, Carla and I sat at a table together and Perry doing his standard alpha male “I don’t need friends, I eat lunch alone” act, whilst sitting close enough to constantly eavesdrop. He’s kinda embarrassing too, come to think of it. We are both pretty mortifying.

I’m sat pondering how excruciating we both are and whether being together lessens it or makes it worse when my thoughts are interrupted by Carla calling out:

“Hey, Doctor Cox, come sit with us!”

I cringe. Oh God, why? She’s smirking at me and she’s been loud enough for the entire canteen to overhear and so look over at us. The Janitor and his Brain Trust look up from plotting, presumably delaying something terrible they’re about to do to me.

I see Perry about to ask Carla why the hell he would want to join us, consider what devastating reply she might give that could be overheard and moodily get up and come over. He slings his tray onto the table and sits down, folding his arms and frowning at Carla.

“What?”

“I just thought you might like some company.” She smiles and flicks her eyes between us. Perry grimaces and glances involuntarily at me.

“Baby, stop interfering-“

“I’m not interfering! I just thought it would be nice for them to-“

“JD, you will _not_ believe what I had to take out of a guy in surgery this morning!” Turk interrupts her.

_Nice one, Short Round._

Oh, wait, that was Temple of Doom, right?

“That’s nothing,” Elliot says, her mouth full of pudding. “I practically had my arm up a dude this morning during a colonoscopy. I bet none of you guys have _ever_ been that deep... uh, done that... uh... oh frick...”

This is followed by a terrible, awkward silence. We all try real hard not to look at each other.

“Thanks for inviting me over, Carla, where else would I get stellar conversation like this?” Perry snipes, clearly trying very hard not to look at Elliot, who has gone red and looks like she’s desperate for the ground to swallow her. Apparently frantic to change the subject she looks around and asks me about my lunch.

“How’s the eggplant pasta, JD?”

“Newbie, are you honestly eating more eggplant? What the hell is it with you and eggplants?”

“Seriously, you’re still calling him _Newbie_?” Carla hisses.

“What would you prefer?” he growls back.

Oh, this is such a mess. Why can’t everyone just be normal? Although no one’s been normal since Steve, really.

The memory this triggers is suddenly horribly vivid. For a second all I can see is Steve’s intense expression as he stares down at me in the gloom of the basement. I feel the blood drain from my face and quickly excuse myself.

As I walk out of the canteen a bucket of what I can only hope is water and nothing too contagious falls onto me from being balanced on the door.

I guess the Brain Trust weren’t feeling too original today.

\- - - - -

Oh God, _why_ did they do that? Dumping water on me in that state is _not_ good, it had a bad reaction when I was in recovery when Elliot knocked a pitcher of water onto me and it’s not much better now. I’m pretty sure the Brain Trust didn’t do that on purpose, they’re assholes but not usually sadistic.

So I’m hiding in a bathroom, sat under a hand drier in the hope it’ll dry me off. It’s mainly blowing pretty weakly onto my head and having very little impact. My hands are shaking so badly I’ve clamped them against my sides and am trying _real_ hard to focus on Meadow and not the horrible flickering image I can see of Steve behind my eyelids every time that I blink.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck,_ why is this happening now? This isn’t _fair_ , I’ve been good, I’ve been myself, why is this happening now? Why _now_ when everything has been working out?

There’s a knocking on the door. I glare at it.

“Engaged!” I yell out.

“So I can see. I brought you a towel, let me in.”

I haul myself up from under the drier and unlock the door. He comes into the bathroom quickly and locks the door behind him, looking questioningly at me. I know I look ill, pale, trembling and sweating. I wrap my arms around myself, clutching my elbows and trying real hard not to blink any more. This probably doesn’t help how I look.

Perry glances at me a second longer, an odd expression on his face. Then he promptly sits down on the floor, pulls me into his lap and starts drying my hair with the towel, gently rubbing at my hair.

“Oh.” I say, slightly pointlessly.

“What happened?” he asks, continuing to massage my scalp.

“What, the ole bucket on the door thing?”

“No, not the old bucket on the door thing, I had ringside seats for that. I mean before that.”

“Oh. I just… thought of something.”

There’s a long pause. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Something made me think of _him_. And it was really vivid. It freaked me out.”

“Are you still freaked out?”

“A bit.”

He continues drying me off. I lean my head back and close my eyes, relieved that now there’s no unbidden vision of Steve lurking there any more.

“D’you think there was urine in that water?”

“Pretty likely, Newbie. It’s a hospital, there’s a pretty unlimited supply.”

“…Ew.”

“Take your scrubs off, I brought another set with me.”

I don’t dare ask how he managed to get another set out of the dreaded machine without sacrificing one of his articles of clothing. He probably just glared at it and it nervous-puked some scrubs out. I'll have to check later that there's no residents running around half-naked that he terrorized into giving "donations".

I wriggle out of my scrubs and sit awkwardly in my top and boxers. He envelops me in the towel and pulls me up against him, my hair against his face.

“You realize I probably have pee in my hair, right?”

“Don’t care.”

I sigh and lean against him. “This is weird.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, this thing. _Us_.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because you seem… just like you. It doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“We don’t all immediately blurt out whatever little thing we feel, Newbie.”

“I know. But it doesn’t scare you.”

He’s silent and I glance up at him. He’s frowning and then looks down at me.

“Not in the same way, maybe.”

I’ve no idea what that means, so just curl up under the towel with my eyes closed as he absent-mindedly rubs it up and down me. I’m pretty certain I’m about as dry as I can get, but this is nice. I make a contented humming noise against his ear and he laughs.

“Are you purring, Newbie?”

“Mmmmaybe.”

He continues for a minute longer, apparently rather taken with the noise I just made and trying to get me to do it again, so I stubbornly don’t. He runs a hand up my neck and scritches at my hair, just behind my ear. I involuntarily purr again.

“And that confirms it, Newbie. You’re not a drunk baby after all, you’re a human cat.”

I open my eyes to frown at him and see the expression on his face. He’s looking… somehow softened and… adoring? It’s fleeting and a second later it’s gone and he’s just looking amused, like I’m his own personal comedy show. I probably imagined it.

It’s only as we leave that I realize that I didn’t need Meadow to calm down. Because he was right there with me.

\- - - - -

I am not in the best of moods. After that shitty incident in the canteen I was desperate to get off shift and so, of course, the afternoon dragged. I ended up doing admin, which made the whole thing seem interminable. Perry dropped by at one point to loudly criticize my handwriting and then quietly ask if I wanted to meet tonight. I declined; I needed to spend some time with Dan so that I could convince him to get out the house on Thursday evening with as little fuss (and as little explanation) as possible.

Then I went grocery shopping on the way back from the hospital, which is always awkward on a motorcycle, as you have to weigh what you need with what can fit on the motorcycle, usually balanced in front of me between my body and the steering pillar. I’ve ended up with things lodged pretty tightly against my junk before when I’ve miscalculated and that is definitely a lesson you learn from.

Also, Perry’s comments around my only eating eggplants got to me a bit, even if they’re true. So I thought I should buy some other food than pasta and purple vegetables.

Only now I’m standing in the store and I can’t actually think of anything else to cook and am staring blankly at a load of sweet potatoes. Because, of course, I don’t know any other recipes and if I just cook from scratch then I won’t know the calorie count and – argh.

I grab some sweet potatoes and then pick up some steaks. Steak will put Dan in a good mood and so I can voice the slightly awkward request for him to clear out Thursday night with him happy. And… I can find the calorie count online, right?

I also need to get stuff ready for Thursday night, so go and find non-flavored condoms, since my… (what, my lover?) is apparently against anything involved in sex being whimsical. Despite being a fully-grown adult, I always find buying condoms embarrassing. It’s basically saying “hi, I’m going to have sex” to the total stranger at the till. I hurriedly grab some lube as well, figuring if I’m going to embarrass myself at the till then I may as well do it thoroughly. I still shove them to the bottom of the wire basket and cover them with the sweet potatoes.

I then go stare at candles for a ridiculously long period of time, trying to figure out if they’ll add “ambiance” or whether Perry will simply dismiss them as girly and/or a fire hazard. I grab a couple and head over to the till, determinedly not looking at the cashier as he rings everything through. I glance up at the total and pull out some cash. As I hand it over he meets my eyes, grins and then says:

“A fun evening planned then?”

I am fucking mortified…

\- - - - -

I park the Aprilia and retrieve the condoms and lube from the grocery bag, hiding the offending items in my jacket. Dan will just have to see the candles, they aren’t particularly incriminating and I can pretend they’re in case of a power outage or something.

“Dan!” I yell as I open the door.

“Heyyyy lil brother.”

I pause as I walk into the living room. Dan appears to have bought a load of multicolored throws that match the stoner beanbag and put them over the couches. I stare at them blankly, trying to decide if I like the effect or whether it’s incredibly tasteless.

I think it’s both?

“Dan, are you channeling some interior designer you met at that hippy yoga place you went to with Mom?”

Dan looks out from the kitchen, where he appears to be roasting a chicken. What? Is my brother being all domestic? What the hell is going on?

“I thought it needed a bit more color.”

I notice that he’s put a multicolored poncho on Rowdy.

“What’s going on, Dan? Are you _cooking_?”

“Yeah, I figured I’d kinda been an ass and drunk all your beer and… you know, outed you to all your friends and so I should probably try to do somethin’ nice for you.”

“Oh.” That’s unexpected. Not really knowing what to say I add “I bought steaks, I guess we can have them tomorrow.”

“I thought I’d get going tomorrow morning.” _Oh, so operation “Butter up Dan” turned out to be totally unnecessary._ “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“About what I said?” I frown and start to put the groceries into the refrigerator.

“Yeah, when you were mad at me and chewed me out.”

“Oh.” I put the candles onto one of the work surfaces and then lean against it, watching him. He’s chopping vegetables and not looking at me, a weirdly un-Dan like thing to do. “I was being a dick, I wouldn’t take anything I said too seriously.”

“Nah, you were right lil’ brother. My life _is_ a mess. I’m a laid back kinda guy, but I’m just coasting and you’re right – it’s embarrassing.”

“I didn’t call you embarrassing.” I protest.

“Yeah, but I am. So I figure I’m going to go and try to make myself more of a big brother you can be proud of.” He glances up and grins at me. I’m surprised by a couple things; that he cares so much about what I think and that I actually believe he’ll go through with it.

“That… that’s great, Dan. But you don’t have to go right away.”

“Actually, I kinda do. I got a job interview back home on Thursday, so I need to get back. You know, make myself presentable, buy a suit, all that stuff.”

“A _suit_? You’ve never worn a suit in your life, what barkeep job needs you to interview in a suit?”

“It’s for a realtor vacancy, lil’ brother. Maybe I can even move out of Mom’s place.”

I open and close my mouth in surprise.

“So I’m making roast chicken as a thanks for having me over and sorry I outed you and your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever, Johnny. Totally is.”

“Are you still mad about that?”

“Only if he hurts you. If he does I will totally kick his ass.”

“Right, yeah. Have you been comparing notes with Turk about how to react to this? Also, I saw him punch you the other night, how do you think you’ll beat him??”

“He took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, well, my _boyfriend_ can totally kick your ass.”

He grins at me again. “You’d need him to, you definitely can’t.”

I don’t bother refuting this; Dan has been kicking my ass all my life.

“He took you by surprise because you were too drunk to see him coming.” I grumble.

Dan smirks at me. “Go take a bath, Johnny. This’ll be ready in about an hour and then I thought we could watch a movie. Or that house renovation program again, that was awesome.”

I frown at him. Go take a bath? What?

I go upstairs and hide the condoms and lube in my room then look in the bathroom. Dan has apparently bought some lavender bubble bath and new PJs for me that he’s put ready in the bathroom. I frown, stick my head out the bathroom door and yell down the stairs.

“Dan? Have you been replaced by a pod person?”

\- - - - -

The next morning I’m just waving Dan off when I think of something.

“Dan! Wait!”

“Huh?” Dan walks back from just getting into his crappy, beat-up car. “What is it, Johnny? Decided you can’t live without me?”

“If you always cooked dinner and got me new jammies then hell, yeah. But I know that was you having a weird out of body experience or something. You’ll be back to being constantly drunk and farting eggs soon enough.”

Dan stares at me for a second. “So… what?”

“Wait a second, I’ll be right back.”

I turn and run up the stairs into my room. I grab what I need and hurry back down, shoving it into Dan’s arms.

“What’s this, lil’ brother?”

“My suit. I figured you could use it for your interview.”

Dan looks at in surprise and then suddenly hugs me. I hug him back and then lean up to quietly speak into his ear.

“You don’t embarrass me, Dan.” And weirdly, it’s true. His grip tightens on me for a second and then he lets go.

“I’m proud of you, Johnny.” He ruffles my hair. “But you do embarrass me; your choice in men is terrible.”

“Thanks.”

He starts walking back to the car and calls back over his shoulder: “You know, you could have your pick from a load of hot guys and you went with _him_? I mean, seriously, it’ll be embarrassing to tell my friends that my little brother’s shacked up with some old dude.”

“Oh, fuck off and sell some houses!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JD's eggplant obsession is not linked to anything phallic, incidentally. I kind of forgot that was a thing until I was rewriting some of this and realised that none of the other characters made any kind of gay joke about them. It is not a symbol of his repressed homosexuality. It was more that they're kinda healthy and easy to keep track of in terms of calorific consumption. They taste nice too...
> 
> I hope everyone's doing well in these weird times we live in... best wishes to you all and stay safe.


	20. 20. My Seduction (Retake)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, smut alert if you didn't get the hint from the title.

_How was your interview?_

I am trying ridiculously hard to distract myself from a weird internal countdown I’ve got going on in my head. 4:22 until we have sex…

Well, I mean, not exactly. We’ll have to go back to my place, I mean, we’re not just going to start fucking in the Sacred Heart lobby as soon as we both get off shift. I hope. And then… should we do something _before_ the sex? Should we eat something? Listen to music? Discuss literature?

I have never been this nervous before in my life. I hope to God that he keeps his usual self-confidence and massive ego intact and takes charge, otherwise we’ll probably just stare at each other for hours. Massive sex fail.

I’m interrupted in my weird internal sex ramblings by Dan replying.

_Went well, lil' brother! They said they liked my bohemian style._

I frown. _Isn’t “bohemian style” a polite way of saying you’re shabby? They didn’t see your car, did they?_

_Shabby chic, lil' bro! No, I parked a block away. And I figure that they weren’t insulting me, since they offered me the job._

I crow and get a few odd looks from around me in the doctor’s lounge.

_Great! That’s fantastic, Dan!_

I still have a pleased grin on my face as I walk to the nurse’s station, daydreaming of Dan selling enormous condos to millionaires. I narrowly avoid walking into Perry, who lifts an eyebrow at me.

“I know you’re excited to finally get your V-card punched, Cynthia, but be a bit less obvious.”

“I’m not thinking of _you_ ,” I retort, mildly annoyed. “My brother just got a half-decent job.”

“Oh, yeah, he had an interview, right?”

“He… what, when did he talk to you?”

Perry shifts on his feet, looking slightly awkward. “He came by my place yesterday on his way back.”

“Oh.”

“’Oh’ is right, Daphne. I wouldn’t worry, he was surprisingly lucid. Did his standard big brother act and threatened to kick my ass.”

He’s not quite looking me in the eye and I think he’s not keen to continue with the discussion.

“Sorry.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. He’s just trying to look out for you. Being a loser about it, but not surprising.”

I’m slightly stung by the loser comment; Dan just actually got an adult job, after all, which I think is a pretty big step for him. He’s totally adulting.

“You alright about tonight?” he asks me, gently grasping my forearm. I glance down, realizing my wrist had been trembling again and I hadn’t realized. I give him a quick smile in response.

“Yeah, just… nervous.” I laugh awkwardly, trying to defuse the comment slightly. “Bit lame, huh? Not like it’s that big a deal.”

He gives me an odd look. “We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

_God, when will he accept that I want to do this?_

“I’m not uncomfortable. Just, y’know, nerves. It’s _fine_.” I snap, as he opens his mouth to interrupt me. “I have to get onto this tox-screen anyway, but it’s all good, I’m not getting cold feet.”

I hurry off, wishing I was less awkward about this kind of thing.

The Janitor trips me with his mop and as I skid along the floor on my front I just wish I was less awkward _period_.

\- - - - -

I’m real tempted to ask Perry if I can just go home in the Porsche with him, but I know he’ll start backing out if he realizes how nervous I am. I did _not_ go to so much effort for him to just decide we need to delay it again. Then I’ll have to be this nervous all over again.

So I drive super carefully on the Aprilia, making sure I absolutely do _not_ get hit by a truck. I really don’t want my last thoughts to be “damnit, we never got to have sex”.

Hah, cock-blocked by a truck.

So, now we’re inside and I’m really concerned that the scenario that I was worried about earlier is going to actually happen, as we’re staring at each other and the only thing I can think to say is “banana hammock”, which will totally ruin the mood. Fortunately, Perry remains more animate than me and steps over to wrap an arm around my waist and presses his lips against my neck. Unfortunately this means he can feel the fine tremors running through me.

“It’s alright, JD,” he murmurs to me. He glances around the room. “When did a rainbow come and vomit onto your furniture?”

“Dan bought them.” I close my eyes as he gently kisses up my neck. He sits down on one of the rainbow puke couches and pulls me into his lap, continuing to kiss my throat and strokes a hand over my stomach, sliding it under my shirt and softly circling it over my skin.

“Stop worrying,” he whispers to me. “We’ll just do whatever feels right, mmmkay?”

I nod and rest my head against his shoulder, looking up at him. It’s weird, I’ve never really figured out why I’m attracted to him, he’s always just been _him_ in my head. And at some point him being him became sexy. But I’m finding everything about him hot now, his strong jawline, the scratch of reddish stubble on it, the way his eyes cloud over slightly when he’s turned on. Even his ears look sexy somehow.

I reach up and play with his curls, watching his eyes close in pleasure when I press my fingertips to his scalp and massage it, the tight coils of hair clinging to my fingers as I do so. I lean up and kiss him softly. He moans and cups the back of my head with one of his hands. He presses against the base of my skull slightly to tip my head back more and his tongue presses into my mouth, sliding against mine. His teeth graze my upper lip and his stubble rasps against my chin. I let out a low groan of pleasure, keeping one of my hands in his hair and resting the other against his neck, feeling the thud of his slightly fast pulse under my fingers.

His hand tightens on the back of my head, holding me in place as he continues to twine his tongue with mine and his other hand moves up to my chest and he rubs a thumb over my nipples. I whine up into his mouth and feel him smiling against my lips. He pulls back to breathe and I pant as he continues to run his hands over my chest, circling my nipples and occasionally running a finger along a scar, making me shiver.

I continue to play with his hair with one hand and move the other down from his neck to trail down his chest, tracing along his defined muscles. I splay my hand against his stomach, feeling the solid, unyielding muscles of his abs tense against my palm. I make a soft groan again and push myself back into a sitting position, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my body flush against his and kissing him hard.

He slides an arm around my waist and his other hand drops down to gently squeeze my ass as he kisses me back. I can feel his hard cock pressing against my thigh and can’t help rutting slightly against him, pressing my erection against his stomach. He growls into my mouth and then breaks the kiss to press his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes. I gaze back at him, panting air back into my lungs. His arm tenses around my waist and pulls me even closer to him and he softly kisses me, a gentle, almost chaste kiss.

“I want you.” I tell him quietly.

“God, I want you,” he replies, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Shall we go upstairs?” I murmur. He nods, but makes no move from the couch, looking slightly lost as he continues to gaze at me. I wriggle out of his lap and stand up, before outstretching my hand to him. He doesn’t react for a second, then takes my hand and I pull him up to his feet. He wraps an arm around my waist again and presses a kiss into my hair.

For someone who is so anti-cuddling, he gets ridiculously snuggly sometimes.

I’m pretty sure he’s feeling unsure about what to do next. Taking charge seems to generally work when he’s like this, so I take his hand again and lead him upstairs to the bedroom, him trailing after me placidly. When we get into the bedroom he hugs me from behind, kissing my neck. I shiver at the sensation and tip my head back against his shoulder. He takes advantage of my throat being vulnerable and kisses along my trachea. One of his hands wanders lower and he slides it into my boxers and takes hold of my cock.

I make a strangled noise low in my throat. He laughs softly against my neck and strokes my erection, rubbing a thumb over my cockhead. I gasp as he circles his thumb a few times and I flush and shiver simultaneously. Precome spills down over his hand and he growls again and glides his now-slippery hand over my erection. I spasm against him and moan. He relaxes his hold on my cock, turns me around to face him and gently pushes me back onto the bed. I laugh as I land and then hold a hand out to him, pulling him on top of me when he takes it. I wrap my arms and legs around him, arching my back up against him to try to keep up the dizzying friction on my cock, continuing my earlier action of rutting against his stomach.

He smirks at me, allowing me to slightly desperately grind against him for a moment before he rolls off, lying on his side propped up on an elbow, somehow looking even more smug at the grumpy expression I make at him in reaction.

“What?” he drawls. “I thought you might want to do something more than just humping my leg.”

“I was humping your stomach,” I mutter in response.

“Yeah you were.”

He leans down and kisses me, carefully undoing the buttons on my shirt as his tongue twines against mine. He drags my shirt open, breaks the kiss to yank his T shirt over his head and then continues kissing me as he presses himself hard against me. I push back against him, feeling the heat of his solid, toned body above me. He slides a hand under the small of my back, lifting me up slightly as he uses the other hand to pull my pants and boxers down to my knees. I mewl against his lips as my erection springs free.

He stops kissing me and pulls back to look at me. I breathe hard, staring up at him. I should feel ridiculous with my shirt open and my pants and underwear tangled around my legs, but I just feel turned on and oddly content. Topless he looks gorgeous, his nakedness somehow making him simultaneously look more powerful and more defenseless than seeing him clothed.

I know that if he wanted to he could hurt me. Totally easily, particularly with my legs trapped the way they are. And that thought should terrify me, but it doesn’t. Because I _know_ he won’t. And that freedom to be vulnerable, to be exposed and to _not_ be scared is so liberating. Makes me somehow feel… safe. It makes no sense, but that’s how it is.

I suspect that what I’ve been thinking has been showing on my face, since Perry is gazing down at me, an uncharacteristically tender look on his face. He strokes my face gently and I take the opportunity to wriggle out of my pants, kicking them off the bed and splaying my legs out underneath him, the cool, crisp material of the bedding pressing against my naked skin. He runs a hand down my thigh and softly massages my leg.

I reach down to undo his belt and he quickly kicks his pants off. He surges forward and presses his hard cock against mine and I thrust back against him, the sensation making me gasp. I scrabble into a drawer by the bed and pull out the lube. Perry swipes it out of my hand and rolls onto his side to examine it, his erection bluntly jutting against my thigh.

“Strawberry flavored, Shirley?”

Not sure I’m fond of the girl’s names in bed.

“You complained I was clinical last time.”

“And the flavoring?”

“They don’t do scotch flavor. I thought I could put it on you.”

“Nahwt really what I had in mind, Newbie. I’m sure we can adapt though.”

He grins at me and abruptly rolls back on top of me, kissing me hard. I hear him fiddling with the bottle and then jump when he rubs the cool gel onto my cock. I break the kiss and grumble against his mouth: “warm it up before you try putting it anywhere else.”

He smirks at me. “I’ll warm it up now.”

At which point he slides down the bed and exhales a warm breath onto my erection. I say “oh” quietly, then “oh” loudly when he licks up the length of my cock.

Then his mouth descends onto me and oh _fuck_ , I think he read the same Internet pages I did before. He lifts my legs up onto his shoulders as he moves his head up and down on my cock, gently stroking my thighs as he works his tongue and mouth on me.

“Oh, _fuck_.” I shudder as I feel his teeth scrape against me. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him, then reach down and put a hand on his head, playing with his hair. He pulls off and takes my hand, kissing my palm. I cup his jaw and gaze down at him.

“You’re gorgeous.”

He says it softly, staring intently at me as he does. My mouth goes dry as I look back at him. I’m scared to say anything, scared of what I might admit to him, so when he starts sucking my cock again I sigh and fall back, staring up at the ceiling.

I cry out quietly as he slides a finger into me, relieved that he has warmed the lube up this time. My knees twitch on his shoulders and he presses into me carefully, rotating his finger to slide in as smoothly as possible.

This should feel invasive, this should feel wrong but right like it did with Jack, but it doesn’t at all. It feels natural. As far as I’m concerned there’s only him and me, no Steve, no Jack, no anything before, just him and me doing what we’re supposed to be doing, _God,_ what we were supposed to be doing since the day we met. I bite my lip and try not to sob at the realization, try not to let him know how I’m feeling.

Of course, he’s noticed my silence and has moved back up to gently kiss my bitten lip as he continues to slide his finger into me carefully, looking intently at my face as he does so. I stare back at him, knowing he can see how close I am to tears and hoping he doesn’t misinterpret it.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Just thinking we should have done this a long time ago.”

Part of me wants to cringe at admitting that, wants to hide from his intent gaze. But he just nods and then kisses me, sliding a second finger into me and twisting so that I gasp into his mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, flinching at the pressure it’s putting onto my legs, bending myself nearly in double. He humors me for a second and then pulls back, sliding my legs down from his shoulders.

“I never realized you were that flexible, Sandra, but no need to show off.”

“ _Please_ don’t do that now.” I respond irritably, without thinking. He blinks at me.

“Do what?”

I flush and look away from him. “The whole girl’s names thing. Not here.”

He’s still for a moment then leans down and catches my jaw, pulling my gaze back to his. He looks contrite, an expression I never thought to see on his face.

“Look… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay.” I interrupt hurriedly, already regretting snapping at him and wrecking the mood.

“No, listen, JD. It’s just… me, I’m just not great at things sometimes. I don’t really know what I’m doing right now and-“

I kiss him, partially to shut him up and partially to alleviate that slightly lost expression on his face. Plus, what he’s said has just reminded me of the whole plan (glittery, unicorn-riding Marine Corps General plan) that I was supposed to take charge and so far I’ve been pretty submissive in this whole thing. I feel him laugh against my mouth, so wrap a leg around his waist, leaning down to gently pull his hand away from my ass before flipping us over so I’m on top, straddling his hips.

I break the kiss and lean back, gazing down at him. He’s sprawled on his back, grinning and looking ridiculously young for a moment. I feel an odd twinge of emotion that’s nothing to do with sex and ignore it as best as I can. To cover I scrabble about on the bed for the lube, finding the tube and rolling it between my hands to warm it up.

“I could just put it on you cold, see how you like it.” I point out to him, lifting an eyebrow. His grin widens slightly and he props himself up on his elbows, apparently interested in what I’m planning. It feels horribly like he’s assessing me doing a medical procedure in Sacred Heart. I frown at him.

“Stop that, you said you didn’t want this to be clinical.”

He ignores me, sitting up more to wrap his arms around me and kissing me hard. I kiss him back, the tube of lube pressed between our chests, my arms trapped as he slides his hands up and down my back. This should bother me, him touching the scars on my back should bother me, but oddly it doesn’t. He trails a finger softly down one of the deeper scars and I shiver against him.

“How are you sitting up like this with no support?” I grumble at him. He smirks and leans back again, gesturing at his stomach and flexing his abs.

“All that time at the gym has to be good for something, Newbie.”

‘Show off,” I mutter, rolling the lube in my hands again. Then try to not obviously stare at his abs in admiration, which - judging by the nearly astronomical level of smugness on his face - doesn't fool him at all.

I manage to wipe the expression off his face in one go by abruptly squeezing the lube onto his erection and then sliding down his legs so I can put my mouth on him.

_Mm, strawberry._

It’s kind of weird doing this, if I’m honest. It’s not like you can have someone else’s cock in your mouth and still be telling yourself that you’re totally straight, thanks very much. I’m not actually sure I’d be able to do it with anyone else. The main appeal of it is how much it surprised him when I tried before and the noises he makes when I’m doing it. But once you get over the whole shock of having a cock in your mouth it’s… kinda hot. I can feel the blood throbbing in him, the heat and the differences in textures, how velvety and slick his cockhead is compared to the thicker, more corded skin lower down. The musky, slightly bitter flavor isn’t really like anything else I’ve ever tasted before and the way his precome tingles slightly on my tongue makes me moan slightly.

He groans and his hand digs into my hair, warning me that I’m getting him close. I reluctantly pull back for air and am rewarded with the sight of him sprawled back on the bed, panting.

“If you want me to be any use for your planned seduction you need to stop that.”

His voice is lower than usual, huskier. I nod and then reach for the condom, tearing the packet open and rolling it down over his cock. He’s watching me attentively and reaches for my arm, gently catching my forearm in his grip.

“Are you sure?”

For once I’m not annoyed by his tentativeness; I can see how turned on he is and if I’m honest I’m finding it rather sweet that he’s ignoring how much he presumably wants me to just carry on to check that I’m definitely okay. I wrap my hand around his and smile at him.

“Yeah.”

He releases my arm, moving his hand to rest on my thigh as I straddle his hips again and then squeeze some more lube over his cock.

I’ve never done this before and I’m slightly graceless trying to line up to slide onto his cock. He keeps his hand on my thigh, gently stroking it. After a couple thwarted attempts I finally figure out the right angle and ease myself down onto him.

Oh… oh _God_. Despite the lube and him preparing me, I can only slide down the first inch or so, before I let out a choked little moan and have to pause. He gasps underneath me and moves his hand from my thigh to rub circles into the small of my back, trying to help me to relax. I flinch and cant forward slightly to splay my palms against his chest, taking some of the weight off my thighs, which are starting to shake from the cramped position. I grit my teeth and am about to try to push down him further when he speaks, his voice tight:

“Try just moving like that for now, no… no need to rush, you need to relax.”

He sounds incredibly odd and I open my tightly shut eyes to look at him. His expression is strange, a combination of aroused and terrified. I remember how worried he was about hurting me and nod, changing to circle my hips instead. He carries on stroking my back softly and then I feel his other hand close around my cock and I gasp as a coil of pleasure snakes through me, heightened by my rocking motions on his erection.

My muscles seem to abruptly relax in response and I slide further down him without initially realizing. He lets out another low groan beneath me and I bite back a yelp as I feel him more deeply inside me. I circle my hips on him again and then experiment by dipping myself down further and… and, oh fuck yes, _that_ feels good. I’ve finally got him fully inside me and his cock is nudging something deep inside me that’s sending little pleasurable sparks through me, making my toes curl slightly in response.

“Ugh, fuck, JD.”

The little pleasurable sparks just felt like they ignited something for a second and I bodily twitch around him, forcing another groan out of both of us. I feel dizzy for a moment and stabilize myself against him, pressing my hands against his abs and arching my back. He let go of my cock when I slide down him, but his other hand is still resting against my spine.

I try moving on him and we both let out moans as I do so, the pressure and full sensation of him inside me feeling amazing. I tentatively try different angles as I slowly move on him to try and rediscover the feeling of his hitting my prostate. I eventually find it and let out a little wail as fully sinking down on him causes a wash of heat and pleasure through my stomach. I repeat the angle, speeding up slightly to repeatedly find that same spot.

He’s been placidly letting me go at my own (likely frustratingly slow) pace, watching me moving on him and panting, occasionally moaning as I move. Now I’ve found the right angle and have started moving with more confidence he grips my ass with both hands, pulling me up and pushing me down on him in time with my movements. I cry out as this intensifies the sensation and gasp, staring down at him. He’s breathing quickly and gazing up at me, an oddly disbelieving expression on his face. Then I sink down on him and he thrusts up to meet me and I _scream_ , white hot light sparking across my eyes with the pleasure.

Having figured out that this really works for me, we end up in a rocking pace, me moving up and down on his cock whilst he thrusts up into me in time with my movements, his hands still firmly on my ass, helping me to keep pace as I ride him. My breath is increasingly coming out in little sobs as the pleasure builds inside me, each thrust layering the sensations and building inexorably. I can feel sweat trickling down my back and moan, gazing down at him with eyes that I know must look dazed and overwhelmed.

In response he sits up (hands free again, poser) and kisses me hard, not interrupting the rhythm by keeping shallowly thrusting into me and keeping one hand on my ass to help me carry on the movement. The other hand wraps around my cock as he continues to kiss me, sliding his tongue against mine before gently biting my lip. I moan against his mouth, moving my hands up to hang onto his shoulders as my actions become slightly more erratic and desperate.

My thighs are shaking slightly, my stomach tensing rhythmically and a hot, boiling sensation of pure pleasure running through me. I’m close, I’m _so_ close. I can feel the heat of his cock inside me, him filling me, deep inside me. He’s gazing into my eyes as I move on his cock, thrusting up into me at the same pace I’m bearing down on him, one hand on my cock, the other on my ass, guiding me as I ride him.

“Come for me,” he growls into my ear, his fist working my cock and he meets each roll of my hips with an upward thrust of his cock. A deep stab of pleasure jolts through me and I gasp, my hands tightening on his shoulders, intense heat low in my stomach. I twitch and feel precome drool down his hand and onto his stomach. My eyes roll and I try to stay focused on him, a long, desperate moan ripping out of my throat.

“Come for me, JD.”

He slams up into me and I cry out sharply as he pushes me over the edge and I start to orgasm. The sharp cry turns into a drawn out, high yell as a hot, almost violent pulse of pleasure rips through me and I come hard. My ass muscles clamp around him and he thrusts a couple more times, making my yelps waver as he moves into me, before he groans loudly and starts to orgasm, hissing my name through his teeth as he does so, his grip on my ass tensing and becoming almost punishingly hard.

If I wasn’t already coming I’m pretty sure that would have tipped me over. As it is, I just make an embarrassingly loud wail and deposit a copious amount of semen over his stomach.

My forehead’s resting against his and we’re both panting. He gently runs a hand over my back and I slump against him, kissing the side of his face softly. I feel an urge to murmur romantic nonsense to him, but bite my lip, not thinking he’ll appreciate it.

“That was amazing,” he growls into my ear. Not sure how else to express it I nod in response and open my eyes to look into his. I feel tired and slightly groggy. I think the orgasm has destroyed a few brain cells. He gives me a sympathetic look and then glances down.

“Um. You’re doing to have to… dismount.” He winces slightly as he says it. I realize why a second later, when I try to pull off of him and experience a rather horrible cold, dragging sensation as I do so _inside_ me. God, that’s horrible.

I sprawl next to him and whimper. He strokes a hand along my flank gently before sitting up. I give him a horrified look when I think he’s about to leave, but he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Just going to clean up, back in a minute.”

With a huge amount of effort I move over to lie on my back. My limbs all feel heavy and sated. I stretch luxuriously and feel a little pleasure aftershock as I do so. I cautiously move my thighs and feel a slight soreness, but nothing too bad. I glance around the room and then grimace, realizing I forgot to do anything with those stupid candles. I’m still frowning and flexing my legs experimentally as he comes back to the bed and sits down next to me.

“Any pain?”

I’m tempted to lie, but he’d see through that.

“I’m a little sore. Nothing too bad.” I lift my leg up to demonstrate that I’m okay.

“Do you want me to check anything?”

“No,” I shudder. “ _That_ would feel clinical.”

He rolls his eyes at me and then rather abruptly scoops me up into his arms so he can pull us both under the duvet. I yawn and wriggle up against him.

“Don’t get ideas about this, Cecilia. I’m only spooning you because that was pretty mind-blowing sex. Don’t think I’m always going to do it.”

I smirk to myself, deciding not to point out that he inevitably ends up spooning me whenever we sleep together. I think he often ends up doing it in his sleep, so maybe he doesn’t realize.

He presses his chest up against my back and slides a leg between mine. I wedge my foot behind his calf and lean back so my head’s pressed against his shoulder. He lowers his head and gently kisses my neck.

“That _was_ pretty mind-blowing though,” he murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“Was that okay for you?”

I glance back at him incredulously. “I came all over you, what do you think?”

“Yeah, but… I just wanted to check you didn’t have any… well, that everything was okay in _there_.” He taps my head.

“No issues.” I yawn again, trying to keep my eyes open. “Going to sleep now, stop talking.”

“Charming. You have no stamina.”

“Nope.” I snuggle down into the bedding, feel secure and safe and sated. Sleep comes easily, stealing over me, warmth and contentment surrounding me. Just as I drift off I swear I hear him call me beautiful.

I probably imagined it, but fall asleep with a pleased smile on my face in response.


	21. 21. My Hitch

Of course, it was all too good to last. Everything going well would just be too unusual for me, after all. Being able to deal with sex with Perry and intimacy and everything – everything going _right_ – is clearly not standard for me. It was a blip.

So, I guess that’s kinda dramatic, huh? Yeah, well, I don’t wanna talk about it…

\- - - - -

I grunt and wrap an arm tighter around JD as he stirs gently in his sleep. I turn my head and blink my eyes open to watch him wriggle around into a more comfortable position before he settles back down against me, his head propped against my shoulder. He looks peaceful.

I gaze at him, knowing I have a ridiculously tender expression on my face, but hell, he’s asleep so I’m not going to get caught out. I nuzzle his hair softly, my mind wandering back to last night. Fuck, the feel of being inside him, the heat, the tightness, _God_. Initially I nearly told him to stop, the pained expression on his face genuinely scaring me for a moment.

But after he relaxed and… oh. In terms of technique I doubt it’s the best sex I’ve ever had or anything like that. But something about him relaxing into it, him trusting me, his enthusiasm, his intensity – God, I’ve never felt anything like it before. The feel of being inside him, my hands on his ass, his expression as he rode me, fuck, his expression when he came… even just thinking about it turns me on now.

JD squirms against me again and then frowns in his sleep. He makes a little groaning noise against my chest.

“What’s up?” I murmur to him.

“Maassurts.”

“What?”

He groggily half opens his eyes to regard me tiredly.

“My ass hurts.”

“Well, what do you expect if you go riding a stallion for half the night? You’re not the cowgirl you think you are, Jessie.”

He narrows his eyes at me and I lean forward to kiss his forehead gently.

“Sorry, being an asshole. Do you want me to check you over?”

“No… not sexy…”

He burrows against my chest. I prod him.

“I don’t care whether it’s in Cosmo’s list of best post coital activities, if you’ve been hurt I want to help.”

He grunts at me and then lifts his head.

“I’m just a bit sore. Nothing too bad.”

I want to torment him a bit further, but I figure I really shouldn’t be a dick the morning after. I pull him closer to me and card a hand through his hair. He stiffens slightly and then sighs and relaxes against me. I gently stroke his back and feel him huff out a breath, his muscles smoothing under my hands.

“Let me know if you want me to do anything then,” I murmur to him. He nods against my neck and I can feel his breath evening out as he starts to drift off again.

“’S’nice…”

“What’s nice?”

“This…”

I continue to stroke his back, easing the tension out of his lumbar. I gently cup his ass with one hand as the other continues to massage his spine.

“This ‘s’nice… bu’ all ofit’s nice…”

I kiss his forehead as he exhales deeply against me, clearly nearly asleep.

“Yeah, it is, JD.”

\- - - - -

It’s not like we suddenly switch to constantly having full-on penetrative sex or anything. If I’m honest I was still slightly worried about it, despite how good it felt. And once we’d done it once JD seemed to lose some of his slightly obsessive urges he had earlier and was much more content to simply do what felt right without having to prove anything to himself. Also, I suspect his slight limp the day after made him rethink it a bit.

I have to admit to enjoying the shared bath I claimed was entirely to try to help him relax and didn’t at all go all sentimental with him lying back against my chest as I smoothed lavender-scented water over his body and nuzzled his ear. Fortunately he couldn’t see my idiotic expression and I used the lavender water as an excuse to use the aristocratic old lady names again.

So we end up doing it the second time completely unplanned, around two weeks after the first time. JD had been sleeping at mine and I’d woken up spooning him, my morning erection pressed between his legs. He had rolled back against me and woken himself up with a yelp as my cock pressed against his ass.

I couldn’t help laughing and he gave me a slightly grumpy look, before grinning and circling his hips against me. This pretty much wiped the smile off my face and I’d kissed him fervently, reaching around to stroke his cock firmly, making him buck against me even harder. He tongue tangled with mine and I’d felt a sudden, fierce surge of desire, remembering the feel of being inside him.

I pressed my cock against him again and tightened my grip around his erection, making him moan and drop his head back against my shoulder. I had kissed his exposed neck and licked hungrily up the column of his throat. Then I leant forward and murmured into his ear that I would really like to fuck him.

“Oh, God, yes,” he’d replied, his voice low and husky.

If he was surprised by my being more forward than last time, he seemed delighted by my taking a more active role. I didn’t really like to change positions considering how comfortably we were intertwined with one another. So I had just lifted one of his legs, gently grasping his ankle and stroking a thumb along the arch of his foot as I prepared him carefully until he was panting and wailing. And then I’d fucked him in the same position, one hand holding his leg up as I thrust into him, the other wrapped around his waist to anchor him in place, occasionally dipping down to squeeze and caress his cock. It had the same intensity, the same enthusiasm, the same… terrifying, liberating trust. But this time I’d been able to kiss him, his head twisted back to allow me access, to tease him, to take control of his pleasure and make sure he enjoyed it every bit as much as I did.

And judging by his rather spectacular orgasm, his head thrown back against my shoulder, his leg twitching as I held his ankle elevated, his body arching back against me in a sensuous, uncontrolled, joyous response, him yelling so loud the neighbors made pointed comments later the day… well, judging by that he did enjoy it just as much as I did.

And I may have told him how gorgeous and beautiful and fucking amazing he felt in the aftermath. But he was kind of glazed over in some sort of sex swoon at the time, so I don’t think he fully understood what I was saying.

That second time was so different from the first, although both were sexy they were so unalike. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve jacked off to both (what, just because I have a… a… a Newbie, doesn’t mean that I don’t occasionally take care of myself). But seeing him in control, assured and teasing me was amazing. But also, being buried deep inside him, feeling the tremors running through his leg from the pleasure, stroking his ankle and being in total charge of satisfying him, knowing exactly what it means to him to allow me to do that… both were astounding. God, I loved both times, God I love… I loved both times.

That was a week ago and I’m now curled up on his sofa with him, drinking a beer and watching some movie I’m not really paying much attention to. He’s enthralled, drinking an appletini and apparently deeply caring about whatever bullshit is going on.

“Tony really needs to see that Obadiah is not a good guy.”

I gently stroke his shoulder and pull him back so his back's pressed flat against my chest, wrapping an arm around him.

“I’m sure the skinny broad will tell him. Since they’ll inevitably end up together.”

“Don’t call Pepper Potts a skinny broad,” he reprimands me, a mock scandalized expression on his face.

“I’ve seen more meat on a chicken noodle.”

Once the film ends (and JD crows that actually, Stark and the skinny broad _don’t_ get together, so that shows what I know) I stay in the same position, my arm wrapped around him, his head leant back against my chest. He tips his head back to look back at me upside down and I stroke a finger along his jawline.

“Did you at least like the music?”

Actually, I liked the music and the main character’s attitude (a fellow asshole), but I’m not going to admit that to him. So I kiss his forehead and he wriggles over onto his stomach and kisses me hungrily. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my erection against his stomach. He grunts softly and scrambles slightly higher up me, straddling my thighs.

“I want you,” he growls against my throat. I smile and catch his head in my hands, kissing him hard. When I pull back he’s panting, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“I want you too,” I whisper back. He shivers in response, looking at me with hazy, aroused eyes.

“What do you want?”

I rest my hands gently on his back and gaze down at him. I was about to tell him that I want to fuck him, but something holds me back. I look at him thoughtfully for a moment.

“I want to make love to you.”

It should sound trite, it should sound corny. But… somehow it doesn’t, it just sounds like the truth. His eyes widen in response and he briefly looks overwhelmed before his expression oddly shuts down. He looks blank for a second, then smiles and leans forward, softly kissing me. I run a hand along his cheek and kiss him back, our tongues moving gently against one another, a soft, almost exploratory kiss.

He eventually pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes, breathing deeply.

“Go on then,” he eventually says to me, voice quiet and intense.

“Go on what?”

“Make love to me.”

\- - - - -

Initially it goes so right, so well. I half carry him upstairs (he seems determined to never quite fully be in damsel in distress mode and won’t allow me to carry him all the way – which should be annoying, but is oddly endearing) and lay him down on the bed before kissing him hard, slowly stripping him off as I do so. When he’s fully naked – and I’m still fully clothed, he’s kind of uselessly flopped on the bed and not helping much so I’m not going to reward him – I run my hands over his body, wringing little groans out of him as I continue to kiss him. He seems to finally get the idea and starts to scrabble at my belt. I pull back and roll my eyes at him, before yanking my T shirt off over my head and shucking myself out of my pants and boxers. He stares at me wide-eyed.

“You alright?” I ask him.

He nods, although his slightly awed gaze continues, although seems to be mainly focused on my cock.

“My eyes are up here, Newbie.”

He stops staring and looks abashed.

“Sorry.”

“For God’s sake, you don’t need to apologize.” I lie down next to him and pull him over so he’s facing me, trailing a hand down his back. I grin at him. “I know how much you appreciate my anatomy.”

“I don’t… I just…”

“Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I appreciate your anatomy as well.”

I stroke his stomach gently and then pull him flush against me. He tangles his legs with mine and squirms against me. I kiss him softly, carding a hand through his hair and wrapping an arm around his waist. I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t said I was going to make love to him, it’s adding some pressure to be heartfelt and intimate, something I’m not always that great at. Somehow it’s easier with him, I can just react to him as I want to, but there’s still that pressure to make this… what, romantic? I’m re-heally not a romantic kinda guy, it does not come naturally to me.

He sighs against my lips and arches against me, his body taught, his cock flush against mine and I feel a now-familiar twinge of shame. I’m worrying about this when he – someone who has _so much_ more reason to be worried or concerned – is letting himself just relax into the moment. I pull away from his mouth and gently press a chaste kiss to his lips. He looks at me in confusion.

“What’s up?”

“Just…” I kiss him again softly. “That you let me do this. That you’re comfortable with this. It… sometimes throws me.”

I realize that I’m whispering to him, a hand ghosting along his spine to check he’s still here, still relaxed, still mine. He frowns at me.

“I don’t _let_ you do anything. I want you to.” His frown deepens. “I’m not here in spite of anything, I _want_ to be. You get that, right? That I want to be doing this?”

“I get that.” I murmur, kissing his forehead. “I appreciate what that means. I just… I guess, I don’t really understand why you want this with _me._ ”

“Are you fishing for compliments about how you look naked?” He grins at me. “Not doing that, _Perry_ , your ego is devastating enough as it is.”

I smirk back at him. “Well, I guess that shows you value my body more than my mind.”

“Obviously.”

I kiss him hard, feeling him arch his back into me, my stomach pressed against his, my erection almost agonizingly hard against him. He moans into my mouth and I groan back in reply, my hands wandering back down to his ass. I growl at him and then flip him over onto his stomach, straddling him and then lower my lips to his ear as I trace my hands over his back.

“Do you want me to fuck you like this?”

He makes a quiet wailing noise in response and hitches his hips back up against me, pressing his ass against my cock.

“No, JD, tell me what you want me to do.”

“Yes… yes, I want you to fuck me like this…”

I smirk and rut against him, sliding my cock against his ass and feeling him gasp as I do so. “You want me to fuck you? Or make love to you?”

I’m not really sure why I’m pressing this point, but he did _say_ that he wanted me to make love to him. Not that making love and fucking actually have that much of a difference, but I like to know where I stand. Particularly with him; a year ago I’d know exactly what’s in his head, but now it’s sometimes like trying to quantify quicksand.

He interrupts my thoughts to abruptly push himself up onto all fours and then arches his back. He gazes back at me over his shoulder, all doe eyes and messy hair.

“I want you to make love to me.”

Well, with an invitation like _that_ who am I to doubt anything? I make an odd, strangled noise in response and then scramble around to find some lube. When I eventually do so I splurge it into my hand and then press a finger into him, groaning at the velvet, clinging sensation of his insides and his soft mewling cries as I do so. He keeps looking over his shoulder at me and, _fuck¸_ the expression on his face is nearly enough to make me come as it is. I add a second finger and he presses back against me, bucking slightly. I smile and lean down to kiss him softly.

“You’re getting more used to this, right?”

He frowns at me. “Well… yeah. Practice makes perfect.”

I twitch my fingers against his prostate and he shudders, his head dropping forward between his arms. He whines softly and presses his ass back against my fingers.

“Please… Perry, please.”

I kiss (not smooch, _no_ , I don’t smooch) his cheekbone. “Please Perry what?”

I crook my fingers inside him again and he groans and shivers fitfully.

“Please… Perry. Please make love to me.”

I’ve lifted the condom packet to my mouth as I’ve been tormenting him then pause. I twitch my fingers again to feel him spasm and then proffer the condom packet to him. He glances at it and then bites into it, tearing it open.

“Good boy.” I whisper against his neck, kissing along his jugular. He whines quietly in reply and I pull the rubber out from the packet and slide it on, thinking I’ve probably teased him enough. I lean back, pulling my fingers out of him and he makes a soft protesting noise, glancing back at me. I sit back on my ankles and squeeze some lube onto my palm, working it onto my cock.

“Are you ready?” I ask him. He nods sharply, arching his back again. I line my cock up against his ass and stroke my hands along his sides to try to relax him.

Pushing into him is so different from the previous two times. He’s not as tensed as before and I slide in all the way, the delicious, tight heat surrounding my cock. We both groan in unison and his head falls forwards, his body pressing back against me. I bite off a loud moan and stroke his back, lingering along the belt marks on his back.

“Do you want me to touch these?” I grunt at him, my hips buried against his. He yowls in reply and glances back at me over his shoulder.

“I… I honestly don’t give a shit. Just _move._ ”

I lift my eyebrows at him and then trail a hand over the worst of the scars, watching his eyelids shutter closed as I do so.

“I think you do.” I whisper to him. “But I think you want _this-_ “ I pull back and then thrust into him, making him groan loudly. “I think you want this more.”

“Oh God, yes.”

I start to snap my hips forward into him and moan as he presses back against me, meeting each thrust. We get into a rhythm, him meeting each of my thrusts in time like a metronome. It’s prefect, it’s sexy and we’re both getting off, Jesus, it feels _so good._

But I mistime a thrust and it somehow throws us. I feel him tense slightly under me, his movement against me feeling wrong somehow. I pause, panting.

“Shit, sorry, JD. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His answer is terse. I frown slightly; that doesn’t sound right.

“Are you sure? I slipped there a bit, did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Only, you sorta clenched and-“

“I’m _fine_ , just keep going.”

I freeze for a moment. Before he was feeling warm, inviting, sexy. Now I can feel his muscles tensing slightly and I… I’m pretty sure he isn’t fine.

“Look, if you want to stop-“

“I _don’t_ want to stop.”

I frown. He’s not looking back at me now. I try an experimental thrust forward and am met with resistance, not the warm welcoming heat of a moment ago. I pull out abruptly.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head. I catch his jaw and turn his head to look at me. His eyes are huge and scared, a look of utter misery on his face. I try to pull him against me, to offer some comfort, but he suddenly springs out of the bed and abruptly walks into the bathroom.

“JD?”

He ignores me and slams the door. I hear the lock turn.

I’m suddenly, horribly unable to do anything.

“JD?!” I spring out of the bed and stalk over to hammer on the door. “JD? What the fuck’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

His voice sounds weird, strained.

“Nothing my ass, Nancy. What is it?”

“Please… just… give me a minute.”

I thump on the door again, which creates no response. I sigh and then slide down against it, my back pressed against the wood.

“JD? Please? Talk to me?”

There’s silence from the other side.

“Please, JD?”

“Just… just give me a minute. Sorry, just give me a second.”

I can hear the pain in his voice, the fear. I drop my head into my hands and try to strangle down the emotion I feel at the agony I can hear it his voice.

“I’m here. Just let me know what I can do.”

I'm met again with silence. I wait, my back pressed against the door, my head tipped back, hands clenched around my knees, feeling helpless. He’s hurting and I can do nothing and what’s the use in _that_?

What’s the use of me?

\- - - - -

Okay… okay, so… okay…

Damnit, it was fine, it was _better_ than fine, it was amazing. We were having really good sex, it felt _so good_ and I was just going with it and it was great. Then one of us mistimed it, either him or me, I’m not really sure which. But, essentially, one of us broke the rhythm a bit and it hurt.

I mean, it didn’t hurt much. A slight scrape, like catching a fingernail against a rough surface, enough to make me wince but really, in the grand scheme of things, nothing. But my body abruptly seized up. It was ridiculous, really. Like yelling at a papercut when you’ve been shot. It was nothing, it was minor, it was _nothing_. I told my stupid body this; told it that it was being stupid, being OTT.

My body apparently didn't agree with my mind and ignored me, continuing to tense up. And Perry noticed that and he asked, he wanted to check that I was okay. And that somehow made it worse, his concern, his _caring_ somehow made it more difficult to deal with. And when I said I was fine he tried, but my body had different ideas. So he pulled out, leaving me somehow both bereft and relieved. Then he tried to hug me and then I properly freaked out and locked myself into the washroom.

He’s sat against the door, I heard him slide down against it. I’m actually sat in the same position against the door on the other side, my back pressed against it. I’m trying so hard to just calm down, to relax.

I mean, it hurt but not much. Things have hurt _way_ more during recovery, why has this caused such a bad reaction? There’s no reason for it, nothing at all, but I’m just suddenly this shaking, horrified, miserable thing. It was… it was _nothing_. Just a brief pain, the physical equivalent of nails down a chalkboard, but… but my body just suddenly seized up and then… and then all my mind was full of was _him_ , was Steve, was the pain, the humiliation, the helplessness and I was suddenly a horrible, shaking, terrified mess. Despite the fact that, really, it didn’t hurt much.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against my knees, trying to stop the shivering running through my body. I am so close to tears, I don’t want to be like this, I don’t _want_ to have this stupid reaction to something so minor.

“JD?”

He sounds lost, confused. After my initial response he’s been quiet, although I know he’s still sat against the door, still just a couple inches of wood separating us from sitting back to back. I can hear him breathing, can feel the worry and concern oozing through the door.

“Yeah?”

“How’re you doing?”

I close my eyes and consider lying. Nope. He still has laser eyes, sex has done nothing to diminish them. Probably made them worse, actually.

“Not great.”

“JD, _what’s wrong_? Please, can I help?”

He sounds… so helpless. It’s really unlike him. I frown.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Can you try?”

I grimace. “It’s… it should be nothing. It’s just… it hurt. Just for a second.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounds forlorn. I shake my head, despite him not being able to see. “No, you don’t need to be. It really didn’t hurt much and was so brief. Just… just I couldn’t get over it.”

There’s a silence for a moment. “Does it still hurt?”

I wriggle my legs. “No.”

“Are you still scared?”

I consider this. I never said that, never said I was _scared_ but he got that without me saying. I consider this for a second.

“A little.”

“Do you need to stay in there?”

I do want to, actually. But I can hear the fear in his voice. The selfish part of me wants to run away, wants to hide until this dies down, to not let him see this messed up, vulnerable, shattered part of me. I don't want him to ever think of me like this and I'm ashamed that I'm in this state. But it’s not just me, not any more. He’s lost and miserable and – in many ways – probably as scared as me. So I abruptly stand up, unlock the door and open it, nearly causing him to fall against my legs. I look down at him and he scrambles to his feet.

“Are you okay?”

I wrap my arms around him and lean my forehead against his shoulders. When his arms wrap around me in response I suddenly notice how badly I’m still shaking, register the fear continuing to course through me. I collapse against him, supported by his broad shoulders and his arms wrapped around my waist.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper against his neck, biting down on the sobs I can feel trying to claw their way out of my throat. He strokes a hand down my back.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He sounds so soft, so gentle, that I nearly don’t recognize his voice.

“I… I do. I lied, I’m sorry, it wasn’t fine, I just… I… I. j-just thought I could cope, I should have been able to c-cope.”

“Sshh.”

I start to sob, gulping in air to try to stop myself, intensifying the shame and fear spreading through me at my shitty reaction.

“This shouldn’t be an issue, this sh-should be nothing, _Why_ can’t this be nothing?!”

I flinch at my voice, hearing it breaking as I speak. His grip tightens around me and he kisses my hair.

“C’mon, come back to bed.”

“B-but-“

“Please, JD, please, just… stop thinking, let’s just go back and sleep, alright?”

I follow him obediently, my hand clasped in his. I curl up against him in bed, my head against his shoulder. He strokes along my hairline and kisses me softly on the lips.

“Just sleep, alright? Let’s talk about this later.”

He wraps his arms around me, tight enough to quell the tremors still running through me. To my surprise I start to drift off, the reassuring weight of him against me. My last waking thought is how solid and real he feels, that he almost feels like an anchor to my messed up thoughts.

\- - - - -

I watch JD fall asleep, my arms wrapped around him. Think about what he said, think about the fear I saw on his face earlier, the way it made me feel like my entire world was collapsing. When he eventually relaxes against me, finally deeply asleep I lean forward and kiss his forehead softly.

“I never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry, I never want you to be in pain.”

I lie back. He continues to sleep deeply, unmoved by my words. I bite my lip and then whisper what I’ve been avoiding thinking about or addressing for months.

“I love you.”

He doesn’t react to this, doesn’t react to the monumental declaration I just made. But something inside me does, something relaxes when I finally acknowledge this. So I lean forward and whisper it again into his ear as he dozes in my arms.

“Don’t keep your distance from me. I love you so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squeals*


	22. 22. My Couples Therapy

I don’t really want to wake up. It’s warm and comfortable here and I have my head pillowed on Perry’s pecs. I can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath and the steady, comforting thump of his heartbeat against my cheek. His arms are still wrapped around me (I think I fell asleep like this?), one of his hands gently holding onto my hip in his sleep. My arm is slung over his stomach and I’ve tangled my legs with his.

I frown slightly. I’m pretty sure I also don’t want to wake up because there’s something I’m trying not to remember or think about. No, don’t think about that, think about this, this is nice, it’s cosy and unthreatening, like being wrapped in marshmallows. We’re both naked and the feel of his skin flush against mine is somehow warmer and more comforting than if we were clothed. I can feel a goofy smile starting to spread across on my face.

Although why are we naked? We didn’t… we didn’t finish the sex, right?

My eyes snap open and I stop smiling as the memory I’ve been trying not to allow to resurface suddenly hits me. I stare at the wall for a moment and blink a couple times. I glance up at Perry. He’s asleep, looking peaceful and relaxed and oddly young. I gaze at him for a moment more; I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen him deeply asleep like this, I seem to sleep more than him generally. A surge of protectiveness runs over me; a stupid reaction really, a subconscious thing I guess. Protect him from what? I’m pretty sure that the only thing he’s in danger of is me freaking out on him. But I still feel the weird urge to somehow guard him.

I sigh and kiss his chest softly before disentangling myself from him and sitting up. He frowns in his sleep before apparently settling back down, although one of his hands is still stubbornly attached to my hip. I gently ease it off and slide out of bed, Perry’s arm trailing after me across the mattress.

I go shower, the hot water running over me. My brain is feeling weirdly numb, occasionally pointing out to me that I really need to think about what happened and analyze it. I carefully ignore it, closing my eyes and lifting my face into the stream of water.

That was shit. I mean, that was really shit. Will that happen every time I’m in even slight discomfort? That seems unlikely, there were definitely a couple of moments that were pretty uncomfortable when I was having sex with Jack. But then, I guess, I wasn’t really as relaxed with Jack. It was something about the sting of pain when I was confident that I was safe. I trust Perry, I _really_ trust him.

I open my eyes, feeling the water cascade down my face, washing the unshed tears out of my eyes. I bite my lip and then pull my face out of the water to breathe.

I still trust him, that’s not changed. Has anything changed?

I wrap my arms around myself and shut off the water, dipping my head and feeling the water running down my hair and face in rivulets. Yeah, I guess something has changed. He’s seen how messed up I am now. He’d already seen the state I’d been left in physically and he’d seen when I dropped my guard a few times since, but he hadn’t really seen the terrified, panicking chaos that is my psyche.

I hadn’t had to pretend I was still the way I was before with him, it had just happened, I had just felt more like me than I had since I met Steve and part of me had possibly become complacent that… that I was just fixed. I knew I wasn’t really, but it was a nice fantasy for a while. I was starting to believe it.

A nice fantasy that anyone would be able to accept… this. Me. In all my shitty, broken glory.

I pull on a T shirt and boxers and go back into the bedroom. Perry grunts and then rolls over and reaches out across the bed before opening his eyes and looking around for me. He sees me standing at the door and sits up, staring at me groggily.

“Hey.” I say to him.

“Hey,” he replies hoarsely. I sit next to him on the bed and he runs a hand up my thigh.

“You okay?”

He smile at him bleakly. “As much as I can be, yeah.”

“This… that… JD, that can’t happen again. You understand?”

It’s not exactly unexpected – to be honest, I’ve been half-expecting it ever since this whole thing began – but it still feels like I’ve been hit over the head with an iron bar. Whilst expecting it, I still hadn’t really allowed myself to feel the enormity of the pain that it would inevitably cause. Like someone just ripped my heart out and I’m staggering around with a gaping hole in my chest, a terrible, sucking wound. Like a monster inside of me is trying to claw it’s way via my throat. A spiraling vortex of loss and hopelessness. Obviously, I've been broken up with before ( _obviously_ ), but it's never felt quite like this, never like... like losing some important part of myself.

I’m glad I’m sat down and so my legs don’t buckle and the surge of dizziness that rolls over me in response isn’t obvious. I look at my hands in my lap, which are shaking pretty noticeably. I look away from Perry, not wanting him to see my face.

I don’t blame him, of course. I knew he’d see sense eventually, knew this was all too good to be true, knew he’d realize what a massive, stupid mistake it all was for him when there was so many better options. At least I can't hear any pity in his voice, although he's presumably just hiding it well. I'm a fucking pitiable mess. Pathetic.

I stand up abruptly and start to pick his clothes up from the bedroom floor, still not looking at him.

“I understand. I… I appreciate you being honest. I guess… I guess, what, we pretend it just never happened to begin with, yeah?”

I’m kinda proud my voice only wobbles slightly, although I do sound like I’ve just been punched. Not that I’d bother hiding that from him, he knows how pathetically attached I’ve always been to him anyhow.

“Huh?”

“Only a few people know and I’m sure they won’t say anything…”

“What are you talking about, Veronica?”

I finally look back at him, glaring at his stupid baffled face.

“Oh, _stop_ with the girls’ names, don’t do that now.”

He’s abruptly gotten out of bed and is prowling over to me naked whilst I stand there clutching his pants and glaring at him.

“What exactly do you think I’m saying, Newbie?”

“That this can’t happen again.”

“What can’t?”

“This. Us.” I point at him and then me, accidentally dropping his pants on the floor as I do so.

“Nnnn’kay, Newbie. That is nahwt what I’m saying.”

I make a particularly unattractive gawping expression at him for a moment before I manage to get my face back under control. He looks at me for a moment and then pulls me against him in a tight hug.

“You’re a moron, you know that?”

“You have mentioned.” I mutter into his shoulder. He pulls back and grasps my face firmly in his hands, staring into my eyes.

“So, for the sake of clarity, since you’ve decided to use even fewer of your brain cells than you usually grace our conversations with, I am saying that the next time you try and man up in the bedroom and I ask you whether you’ve been hurt that you are honest and do _nahwt_ pretend everything’s okay, no matter how many Internet articles tell you that lying to your old man is what they want to hear. And don’t you dare fake your orgasm either, Shirley, I’m a medical professional, I’ll notice, it’s not all as easy as “When Harry Met Sally” made out. Okay?”

I stare at him. “… That wasn’t one of your best psychotic rants.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But, in my defense, I just woke up, I’m naked and you freaked me out.”

“Sorry… I know locking myself in the bathroom wasn’t-“

“I didn’t mean then, I meant just now. Come back to bed, JD.”

I trail after him in a docile, puppy-like way and crawl back up against his chest, getting back into the same position I woke up in. He strokes a hand down my back.

“Hey.”

I roll my eyes up to look at him.

“I don’t… I wouldn’t just end it because things got difficult. You know that, right?”

I frown at him. “How am I supposed to just know that?”

He looks confused and then shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that you would.”

I stay looking up at him and he strokes a hand through my hair, looking at me thoughtfully.

“Maybe we need to work on our communication.”

I scoff and lay my head back down on his chest with a sigh.

“Understatement.”

\- - - - -

I watch him making coffee in the morning and wonder if I should bring it up again or just leave it for now. Thinking about his expression when the idiot thought I was ending it makes me tempted to just let it lie, but then he’ll probably just obsess about it in his head anyway.

“Hey Newbie.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we should talk to your little hipster counsellor about this stuff?”

He looks back at me and frowns. “I’m not sure Craig does… does…”

“Couples counselling?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m not sure we even count as a couple, let alone a couple that needs counselling.”

I try not to roll my eyes or snap at him to ask what the hell he thinks is going on here.

“Fine, you fishing here, Debbie? I kinda think of us as a couple, or at the least… I don’t know, in some sort of weird monogamous friends-but-not-really-friends-because-you-annoy-me-so-much with benefits situation.”

He looks at me blankly and I frown at him.

“Look, we can figure this kind of thing out later, but I figure seeing someone about what just happened would help. I mean, I presume your reaction last night was to do with Gourley, right?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

I’m finding his non-committal attitude annoying - and he’s being incredibly non-committal in all definitions, the little bastard, he should be prattling in delight to his little friends and skipping around the kitchen in glee considering I basically just said I _wanted_ to be in a relationship with him.

“Right, so you often lock yourself in the bathroom and have a panic attack?”

“… No…”

“Look, I just want to avoid that happening again. So I think we should discuss it and as you’re showing all the maturity and depth of a boiled cabbage then maybe we should do it with a professional.”

He sighs and leans against the kitchen counter. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Or think about it. Or even acknowledge it, to be honest.”

“Yeah, well, it happened Louisa. So you can either put on your big girl pants and deal with it or pretend it didn’t happen and then we have this conversation again when it inevitably crops us a second time.”

He looks at me moodily and I sigh and pull out the big guns.

“Fine, let me rephrase. I’m not putting out until we figure this out.”

He gives me a horrified look in response.

“I mean it, Newbie. None of _this_ –“ I gesture at myself (and _God_ , the extra hours in the gym have seriously had an impact, you could wash clothes on my abs) “-until it’s sorted.”

“But-“

“I mean it.”

To add impact I raise my arms above my head and stretch, knowing it’s dragging my T shirt several inches higher. He gives me a wounded look.

“Fine. That’s emotional blackmail, you know.”

“I know. Be a good girl and book an afternoon session.”

\- - - - -

Newbie later texts me to confirm that he’s booked a session for both of us with Gillespie tomorrow afternoon. I view this as proof that he pretty much entirely thinks with his cock and resist the urge to respond by asking him if he is even remotely interested in me apart from my body. I mean, it’s needy and also I’m kinda scared about what his response might be.

Which is why I realize that maybe this wasn’t the best idea whilst I’m sat with him in Gillespie’s waiting room, watching the receptionist look between us in confusion (yeah, asshole, the cute, worried guy and I are together, got a problem with that?). I’m sprawled on my chair, arms hooked over the back and attempting to make small talk with Newbie every so often, without a great deal of success. He’s nervous, I can tell from his body language and lack of actual… y’know, verbal language.

The idea of Gillespie asking me about my feelings in front of JD somehow terrifies me. Why didn’t I think about this before? It’s one thing to avoid discussing the more difficult topics with Newbie, a totally different scenario to either be totally exposed or lie. It makes me feel horribly vulnerable and naked. Also, my usual tactic of being passive aggressive (or just plain aggressive) when asked about JD will be slightly redundant if he’s literally sat there next to me listening. He knows me too well to believe me when I bullshit.

“Hey, Sandra.”

He glances over at me. “Yeah?”

“What's up? You're zoning out more than usual, which makes you practically in a different dimension.”

He looks awkward and then shrugs. “I was just thinking about... stuff.”

I frown. “Stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

He twists his hands anxiously together and seems determined not to look at me. I have the sudden realization that he's feeling as exposed and vulnerable as I am, but before I can bring it up Gillespie appears at the door and invites us in. I note with amusement that we are “Doctor Cox and JD” and am tempted to ask why we aren't “Doctors Cox and Dorian” then realize that makes us sound like some married couple.

I have a brief (horribly weird) image of us getting married with JD in a white dress as I point out to him that he's kidding no one wearing all white as we cut the cake. I shake my head slightly and frown, following him into the office and yet again pointing out to myself that I'm spending too much time with him.

\- - - - -

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit._

Craig is _totally_ going to ruin everything. He's going to ask all of the questions that we've so far managed to avoid discussing and it's just going to go so wrong. I'm trying not to imagine the expression of pity of Perry's face, followed quickly by disgust that will inevitably occur when... when...

Oh, shit.

When I have to admit what happened the morning after he kissed me that first time.

\- - - - -

_I'm sat on the Aprilia, staring out at the sea. The waves are rolling in, the mist hanging low off the cliffs. Everything seems gray and rather dramatic, which seems to fit really. I'm parked at a layby, my elbows hooked over the handlebars of my motorcycle, leaning forwards with my chin resting on my interlinked hands._

_It's really rather beautiful. A good place to sit and freak out._

_I think I've got most of the “freaking out” out of my system from the ride here. When I started I was shaking so badly I could barely keep the Aprilia in a straight line. But I'd kept going and eventually I'd managed to focus myself and stop the weird, slow crawling sensation of terror from overwhelming me again. Which means I can now think about what happened without a total panic attack._

_What_ was _that? I mean... he kissed me._ Doctor Cox _kissed me. Doctor Cox_ kissed _me. Doctor Cox kissed_ me _._

_I mean, he was really really drunk, but that's not something that I can really blame the alcohol on. He's been really drunk around me plenty and not done that before. And I can't remember ever hearing gossip about him doing that with anyone else; and I would have done if he had, gossip like that would have gone around the hospital like a virus. Considering that being really drunk seems to be an almost natural state for him then him doing that must be unusual, at least statistically._

_And also what he said after about Jack; “why not me?”._

_And he called me a tease. Like I'd been flirting with him or something._

_I frown. That's nonsense, right?_

_I pull out my cell to read through my recent text conversations with him, scrolling up to a random point, expecting it to validate my slightly outraged thoughts. As I scroll down I get a chill feeling and my eyes widen._

**Dr C:**

I’m sorry I freaked you out, I know that was not right. I really was worried though.

**Me:**

Fuck off.

You fucker.

**Dr C:**

Nice girls don’t swear, Jenny. It’s crude, even if they are being followed around in parking lots by devastatingly handsome doctors who are only concerned about their wellbeing.

**Me:**

Was there a devastatingly handsome doctor? I didn’t notice, I was distracted by the crazy-eyed stalker who keeps invading my privacy. Incidentally, my therapist described you as “colossally stupid” and he is qualified to make these assessments.

By the way, do you change my name in your contacts to a new girl’s name each day? That’s a bit weird if you do.

**Dr C:**

You’re just “Newbie” in my cell; I tried doing the girl’s name thing and it was too much effort. Also, I messaged some abuse aimed at you to a totally innocent Sophie once. It was embarrassing.

My therapist describes me as a “massive narcissist”. Your therapist is clearly kinder, although presumably doesn’t know me as well, despite you likely prattling on to him about how awesome I am in your sessions.

Google search for “girl who is a total rage monster” has failed me. I think “Carrie” possibly suffices, please never get your period or we are all doomed.

**Me:**

Fuck off, you fucker.

**Dr C:**

Gotten over “the burn” yet, Phyllis? By which I mean the scotch, not the result of your last date.

**Me:**

Is it too soon to tell you to fuck off again?

**Dr C:**

It’s getting old, at least I vary my material, Tracy.

**Me:**

Isn’t Tracy an androgynous name?

**Dr C:**

Thanks for a new avenue to explore, Charlie.

**Me:**

Don’t say that to The Todd, he’ll high five you.

**Dr C:**

Good warning there, Georgie. I’ll keep it in mind. Get some sleep, I may have spent some time looking up your therapy online; sounds difficult. Let me know if you need me to help with anything (and by help I mean covering your shifts, not TALKING, obviously) then tell me. Good night, Darcy.

**Me:**

Good night.

**Dr C:**

Priscilla, was there some sort of crazy biker chick rally last night that you just had to go to?

Seriously though, you should be careful going to those kinds of things, I hope you used protection.

By which I mean a helmet, obviously.

Are you pissed? It was just a joke, seriously Newbie. Stop being such a girl.

Newbie, are you alright? The mousketeers are worried and I am too.

Please, pick up.

**Me:**

I’m really sorry, feeling real sick.

**Dr C:**

Are you ill with something embarrassing? Did you fall off your motorcycle?

Sorry. Do you need anything?

I’m coming off my shift at 5, let me know if you need me to bring anything for you.

**Me:**

Sorry, just picked this up. No, did not fall off, you’d have seen me in Sacred Heart if I had fallen off that hog. I’m fine, just need some rest I think. Thanks though.

Did you leave because I didn’t let you have any soup?

**Dr C:**

Yes, Newbie, my repeated lack of interest in the soup was hiding my deep desire for it. I was very hurt. Why are you so obsessed with the goddamn soup?

**Me:**

Because I was hungry. The hot chocolate is awesome though. It has s’mores.

**Dr C:**

Yes, Clarice. I am currently drinking scotch – something that adults drink in the evening. Stop prattling at me about soup and s’mores.

**Me:**

Soup and s’mores would be disgusting. The croutons would get all marshmallowy.

I bet if scotch had s’mores in it would be less icky.

**Dr C:**

Good Lord, Delilah, could you be any more girly?

_Oh my God._

_Oh my God._

_We've been flirting. We've been totally flirting._

_Have I been leading him on?! Did I pick up on this and... and..._

_Did I?_

_I scroll back up and reread some of the messages. Not that it's that unusual from our normal conversations, certainly before Steve._

_Have... have we always been flirting?_

_But he's straight._

_And I'm straight. Or I was. Or I was mainly straight and ignoring any urges otherwise. Or something, I'm still not sure exactly what's going on or has been going on with my sexuality. I'm not sure it's that easy to quantify._

_Am I just reading too much into it? But... but then he kissed me._

_I frown, staring at the ocean. How do I feel about him?_

_I mean, I admire him. Of course I do, he knows that. He's a great doctor. He's smart. He's funny. He's kind and he cares about his patients, although he tries to hide it. He's..._

_Words like “handsome” and “gorgeous” and “got great ass” suddenly flood into my mind. I feel myself blushing._

_I mean, yeah, he's good looking. Yeah. Obviously. You don't need to be sort of bi to notice that._

_Just because someone's good looking doesn't mean that you have the hots for them, though. Technically speaking, The Todd is good looking. Having the hots for him would be insane._

_I drop my head down into my hands. Why am I lying to myself?_

_I admire him. I try as often as I can to be around him. I'm desperate for his attention. I take a ridiculous amount of notice of everything he says to me and obsess over it. When I'm not with him I'm usually thinking about him._

_I'm in love with him._

_I feel like I've just been slapped._

_I'm in love with him. I've fallen in love with him and I didn't even notice._

_And even now, I can feel my brain trying to ignore it again. Because I don't want to be in love with him. I'm rejecting it, because he's too_ important _to be in love with. Because being in love with him will mean that I'll do something stupid and then he won't be in my life any more. And then I won't be able to cope._

_But... but he already did something stupid. He kissed me. He upset the balance. I can't just ignore it, that might be even more telling than me yelling at him. Or kissing him back._

_What do I want to do?_

_I remember his lips on mine, his hand behind my head. The rush of adrenaline and arousal it caused and how right it felt, before I realized what was happening and stopped it._

_Well, I want to do that again._

_I turn the Aprilia around and kick it back to life._

_Fuck it. I'll go do that and figure it out from there._

\- - - - -

He's going to ask if I love him, isn't he? And I'm going to have to say yes and see Perry looking horrified, followed by pitying, followed by disgusted.

I stare at Craig, desperately trying to telegraph to please _not_ ask that.

He frowns at me slightly (I clearly look manic) and then looks between the two of us.

“Has something happened?”

“No,” I reply sullenly at the same time as Perry saying “yes”. I glare at him. He's unimpressed and glares back.

“What, Delilah? You claiming it didn't happen?”

I sigh and turn back to Craig. “Look, I just... I sort of had a panic attack the other night.”

“Right,” Craig nods. “What were you doing at the time?”

“Uh,” I blush, glancing at Perry. He's actually looking slightly embarrassed too.

“I think I can assume what was happening based on that.” Craig's looking amused. “So, you were in sexual-”

“Yes,” I interrupt quickly, hearing Perry snigger next to me. “And it was... it was great. Just then it hurt slightly and it seemed to make me just... break.”

“Break?” Craig doesn't look amused any more.

“I couldn't stop thinking about... about _him_. And I got scared and...” I trail off.

“He hid in the bathroom. I got him to come out eventually, but he was shaking and his heart was racing.” Perry isn't sniggering any more. I wrap my arms around myself and then lean against him, partly for comfort and partly in some odd way of trying to apologize for what happened. To my surprise, he puts an arm around my waist and presses back against me.

“It does sound like a panic attack.” Craig looks at us both thoughtfully and I feel Perry's hand stroking the small of my back gently.

“I thought so. But it's weird, I didn't feel... well, scared at all, before it happened. I'd have thought I'd have to be?”

Craig smiles at me. “No, it's clear you aren't scared of him. It's clear that you love each other and-”

We both react instantaneously, jerking away from one another.

“How did you know-?” Perry starts, then his mouth snaps shut, almost comic book style.

We both stare at each other. Perry looks shocked and slightly frightened, his eyes wide.

I've misunderstood something, right? He doesn't... he can't love me. Why would he love me?

Craig sighs loudly. “Have you really not discussed this?”

“Listen, you scheming quack-”

“Don't try to bully me, Doctor Cox, it won't work. Why are you so concerned that JD understand-”

“We've not _talked_ about it yet.”

Perry's looking furious. I frown.

“That I understand what?”

Perry glances at me. He's looking oddly skittish.

“Look, Newbie... I... Doctor Sternin here is right. I do... kinda... I mean... oh hell, look, Newbie, for some ridiculous reason I do love you. I've clearly finally cracked and gone insane like everyone's been predicting for the last few years. But... it freaks me out. That bastard Gourley told me that he... that he saw how I looked at you. And I hope to hell that this is totally unrelated, but I can't be _sure_ , y'know? And that terrifies me.”

I stare at him for a moment longer, feeling a stupid grin running across my face. “You love me?”

He frowns at me. “For God's sake, Patricia, I thought that was obvious. Please focus on the latter part of my statement.”

I continue to grin at him and he rolls his eyes and looks back at Craig. “You see? This is why we don't talk, the idiot zones out and doesn't pay attention to the right things.”

“JD, your partner has concerns-”

“Oh my God, he's not my partner, he's... he's my Newbie-”

“Oh God, I'm your Newbie.” I grin at him even wider and he rolls his eyes again.

“Shut up and listen to the good doctor, Denise.”

“JD,” I finally focus back on Craig. “Did you hear what Doctor Cox said about his concerns?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “They're stupid.”

Perry glowers at me. “Why are they stupid, pray tell?”

I look at him blankly. “Well, because they are. You were saying you were scared that there's some link between what Steve did to me and us being together, right? That you're like him? That he somehow saw something like himself in you?”

His glower somehow increases in intensity. “Putting it bluntly, yes.”

“You're nothing like him.”

“But-”

“No, seriously, you're nothing like him. He _wanted_ to hurt me, it turned him on. If you even think you've hurt me, you get upset. Perry, you're like the total opposite of him.”

He looks at me blankly. I turn back to Craig.

“I mean, that's obvious, isn't it?”

“I think it's an unfounded view to have, but fear isn't always logical.”

“ _Why_ would he comment on it if he didn't see something?” Perry interjects.

I shrug. “To mess with you. The bastard wants to continue messing with us, he even did it when I visited-” I snap my mouth shut, realizing what I just said.

Oh shit. Both Craig and Perry are staring at me with matching looks of accusation.

Oh shit shit shit shit shit.

“Newbie, what the hell...?”

“You _visited_ him?”

“Uh...”

“I am going to kick your ass down the stairs unless you say something in the next few seconds, Newbie.”

I don't know what else to say. I stare at Perry helplessly for a second. “Yes, I visited him. A... a couple months ago now, I guess. Before anything happened with us.”

“ _Why_ , Newbie?”

I sigh. “The thing with Jack had just happened and I... I was scared. I wanted to know how Steve had dealt with relationships. I thought he might understand.”

“What did he say?” Craig asks, looking at me intently. I shake my head and look down.

“Nothing worth repeating.”

I practically feel the air freeze next to me. When Perry next speaks, his voice is icy.

“What did that bastard say to you, JD?”

I glance up at him. “Something along the lines of my enjoying what he did to me and me being a “fucking homo”. Like I said, nothing worth repeating.”

Perry's looking murderous. He stares at Craig with crazy eyes. “I'm going to slaughter the bastard.”

Craig frowns. “I wouldn't normally suggest this, but it may be worth you visiting him. _Not_ to slaughter him - I didn't hear that, by the way - and not on your own. JD, I assume you went on your own?”

“...Yes...”

Perry drops his head into his hands. “You're a moron. I'm in love with a moron.”

“But it would hopefully put your fears to rest about why Gourley said what he said to you.” Craig continues.

I frown. “Or he'll just mess with Perry more.”

“If you're with him then-”

“I'm not subjecting JD to this shit.” Perry growls.

“You're not going on your own.” I snap back at him.

“Oh really, Newbie? Why not?”

“Because I'm in love with a moron too.”

Perry stares at me.

“I mean, you. You're the moron.”

“This is all very romantic,” Craig says drily. We both glare at him.

“I'm not exactly a hearts and flowers kinda guy, doc, if you hadn't noticed. And JD appears to be incapable of communicating without being awkward or embarrassing.”

I'm actually really glad he said that. I was about to say that it was romantic to us, which would have been both awkward and embarrassing.

\- - - - -

We're both sat in the Porsche afterwards, slightly shell-shocked. Newbie's fiddling with his sleeves again. I suspect that we're both going to ignore the declarations we just made in Gillespie's office for now.

“Since you've already – y'know, gone and done this stupid thing – do you know whether I need to make an appointment to see Gourley?”

“We don't need to.”

I notice the change in pronoun. “I don't want to expose you to that, JD.”

“Tough shit.”

He's sounding uncharacteristically resolute and I suspect he won't budge on this. I sigh and reach over to pull him towards me. He scrabbles into my lap and wraps his arms around me, holding me flush against him. I sigh and relax against him as he strokes his hands down my back soothingly.

“You really aren't like him at all, you do know that?”

“I'd like to think that, sweetheart.”

I feel him tense slightly against me. “Did you use that in place of a girl's name or as an actual affectionate term?”

I frown against his shoulder. “I genuinely have no idea. I think I'm cracking up here, Newbie.”

“No you aren't.”

He continues to stroke his hands down my spine gently. The confidence in his voice – in _me_ – is rather wonderful. I nuzzle into his neck and softly kiss his clavicle. His skin is warm and soft and soothing.

He pulls back, holding my face gently in his hands and leans in to kiss me tenderly. I kiss him in response, tangling my hands into his hair. It's a delicate, careful kiss, intense but somehow innocent, despite him being in my lap and likely able to feel my pretty significant response to him kissing me. I feel him smirk against my lips and reach down to palm my cock through my jeans, eliciting a groan from me.

“See, this is how I know you're nothing like him.” JD's smiling at me, a sweet, gentle smile, almost child-like, which is rather at odds with what his hand's engaged in. “You like me being in charge, you like me taking the lead. It turns you on, right?”

I nod, gazing at him rapturously. His smile widens and he kisses me again. “It turns me on too.”

I groan and shiver as he rubs his thumb over the head of my erection. “Oh God, JD, you need to stop that.”

“But it's sexy...”

“I know it is, but we're currently making out in my car in a parking lot outside a psychiatrist's office. And if you carry on doing that we're possibly going to end up fucking in it. We'll get arrested or - worse - have Gillespie see and start psychoanalyzing our sexual technique.”

He pulls back and gives me a lecherous grin. “So let's move the car and then carry on.”

I smirk back at him. “Best idea you've had all day, Ellen.”

Oh my God, I really do love this horny little bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, this is why I didn't write about JD's immediate response to Perry kissing him previously because I didn't want to have him admit to himself that he loved him earlier in the fic. And he basically ignores that realisation riiiiiight up to this chapter. Kind of like Perry last chapter :)


	23. 23. My Caged Performer 2

“Hngh.”

“Hey, this was your idea.” Perry points out to me.

“I didn't realize the back of the Porsche would be so cramped.”

He thrusts up into me and I yelp slightly, scrabbling to grab the back of one of the seats to steady myself. He slides a hand along my thigh to my hip and catches my face with his other hand, pulling me down to kiss me hard. He thrusts up into me again as he does so and I gasp into his mouth.

We have somehow ended up on my driveway with me trying to ride Perry in the back of his Porsche. I hadn't realized the dimensions would be quite so difficult to work with. I'm getting cramps in my cramps, quite frankly.

As a result, we've been going at it for nearly half an hour, the back of the Porsche has steamed up like that car in _Titanic_ and my entire body is tingling. I'm starting to make incredibly embarrassing noises now, whilst Perry is remaining relatively stoic, just occasionally grunting. I pull back from kissing him and roll my hips, grinding his cock deep into me and reach for my erection, hoping he won't notice this time.

Of course, he does. He catches my wrist and I whine at him pitifully.

“Perry, _please_.”

“No. I told you, I want to make you come without touching you.”

“And I _told_ you, you've been watching too much porn. I'm pretty sure hands-free isn't real, you know.”

God, I'm so close. My erection is throbbing, nearly painful, I'm having random stabs of pleasure that seem almost completely disassociated from his or my movements any more and heat is crawling up over me from everywhere that our skin is pressed together. I make a low groaning noise at him, which he responds to by thrusting up into me again hard. I have to raise my hands above my head against the ceiling of the Porsche to stop my head hitting into it.

“Yeah, keep your hands up there.” Perry growls at me, before starting to fuck up into me at a punishing speed. I have to brace myself against the car roof to stop myself falling off or smashing my face into the ceiling, my back extended and arched slightly to get him as deeply inside me as possible.

_God_ , I didn't realize he's been being gentle with me up until this point. Despite the almost brutal pace, this doesn't hurt, this just feels so fucking good. I move against him, pushing back down hard, pressing my elbows into the soft material of the car roof. Every movement makes the blood pulse in my heavy, swollen cock and I can feel it steadily drooling precome. All of me feels wound up tight and tensed.

“Oh _fuck_ , yes, please Perry, keep going, harder, yes, yes, yesyesyesyes-”

It feels like boiling water is running up my spine. A sheen of sweat has broken out over my body and I stare down at him in awe. He looks completely undone, his curls tangled in a sweaty mess, great heaving breaths wrenching his chest up and down, his eyes crazy. He grips my hip hard enough to bruise and thrusts into me again, turning one of my yelped “yes”es into a high-pitched yowl.

“Oh, fuck, yes, JD, come on, come for me, I'm so close, I just need you to come for me, sweetheart.”

And apparently him calling me that was enough. I practically scream as I finally – exultantly – orgasm. My entire body seems to be contracting and rippling against him as what feels like searing hot come spatters against my stomach in thick ribbons. Perry's grip tightens for a moment on my hips before he moans loudly and his head falls back against the seat as he follows me.

There's silence after, just our ragged panting. I can feel myself trembling as little aftershocks shiver through me, my arms still pressed against the car roof. I press my face against the inner flesh of my elbows and let out a deep, shaky breath, screwing my eyes closed against the stars that are screaming across my vision.

“Look at me.”

He says it softly, gently. I pull my nose out from the crook of my arm and stare down at him, flushed and panting.

“Are you okay?”

I grin at him shakily. “Yeah.”

“I wasn't too rough?”

“No, fuck, that was hot.”

“You're shaking.”

He slides a hand over my skin, which is starting to cool and feel cold and slightly damp now. I drop my arms down from the roof and lay my hand gently on top of his.

“Only in a good way.” I grin at him again, then frown. “Oh God, I came all over the Porsche.”

“Yeah you did, Newbie. You'll have to clean that up somehow.”

He's smirking at me. I lean over and swipe a finger through my semen spattered over his stomach and frown at him.

“I feel like you're about to make some 'clean it up or lick it up' comment any minute.”

He catches my wrist and grins at me. “What a fantastic idea, Clarabelle.”

And then – oh God, he's just put my finger into his mouth and his tongue is lathing across me like a hungry cat. I whimper softly and lift myself off his cock, lying flush against him to kiss him softly, ignoring the sweat and ejaculate sandwiched between us. I pull back to gently bite his lower lip and then press forward to kiss him again, my tongue twining with his, tasting myself in his mouth. I groan at the sensation and feel him smirk against my lips.

“Liked that, did you?”

“Oh my God, yes.”

“Such a filthy girl, Anne-Marie.”

He wraps an arm around my waist and presses his lips to mine in a hard smooch before lifting his chin and pressing my face against his throat.

“We're going to have to move soon.”

The vibrations from his vocal chords run through me and I press myself against him, closing my eyes.

“Hmm.”

“Or we'll wake up cold and stuck together.”

“Hmm.”

“I know it makes no difference to your hairless body, but I don't fancy waxing myself like that.”

“Hmm.”

“And you're all sweaty.”

“So're you.”

“Well, women glow rather than sweat, right?”

I huff against him. “Stop with the girls names.”

“I thought you just got pissed if I did that during sex? You can't deny me in the aftermath as well.”

He's being a dick. I frown and then – very slowly to make it worse – slide off him.

“Ugh, Newbie, you little bastard, that's revolting.”

\- - - - -

Newbie has - rather uncharacteristically - fallen asleep naked, having staggered into bed after a shower. I've pulled him into a spooned position from behind and am gently stroking his arm as he sleeps, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin against mine. I keep remembering his expression as he was riding me, his arms stretched up, his body taught like a bowstring as he orgasmed just from me fucking him and telling him to come for me.

God, that was amazing.

I nuzzle into his neck and kiss him softly. "I love you."

He stays deeply asleep. I frown and gently shake him. His forehead wrinkles in his sleep and then he blearily opens his eyes to look at me.

"I can't do it again, Perry, my brain'll dissolve."

Considering that last time I called him "sweetheart" he came all over me, I think I can assess it's pretty effective on him, so I deploy it again. "I can't do it again either, sweetheart, I was genuinely concerned I’d end up with my cock clamped inside you last time. You’ve developed a hell of a lot of muscle definition down there."

Okay, so that wasn't as romantic as I meant it to be. He laughs softly though, so apparently appreciated it. He stretches up and arches his back to press himself against my chest and peers over his shoulder at me sleepily.

"Then why'd you wake me up?"

I roll him over to face me and lace my fingers behind the small of his back, pulling him close against me. He blinks at me, still looking confused.

"I just... uh..." Fuck, he's looking cute and tired and now I'm feeling stupid and awkward. We were doing fine, why am I trying something like this? Telling him I love him when he's unconscious or I'm ranting at him angrily is clearly possible, but it's getting stuck in my throat trying to say it to him straight when he's actually awake. He gives me another groggy blink and then he sighs.

"I love you too, Perry, now let me get back to sleep."

He drops his head back down onto my shoulder and closes his eyes. I frown at him and then huff. "I was tryin' to be heartfelt there, Newbie."

"Mm hm."

"Now you wrecked it."

"Mm hm."

"Now I'm going to have to do it to you again so I can say it after."

He opens his eyes wide and looks at me in horror.

"Oh yeah, Newbie."

\- - - - -

I nuzzle his sweaty hair and listen to his ragged, moaning pants as he tries to get his breathing back under control after climaxing. "I love you."

"Nngh."

"You really brought this on yourself, Newbie."

"Nngh."

"Also, I don't love you enough to sleep covered in this. We're going to have to shower again."

"I hate you."

\- - - - -

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Leave me alone.” I grunt at him.

“Do you want coffee?”

I drag my head out from under the duvet and glare at him. “My ass hurts. Go away.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Does it actually, Pumpkin, or are you just being a pissy little bitch?”

“Fine, it doesn’t. That was still mean.”

“Mean to give you two screaming orgasms in one night? C’mon Delilah, that’s pretty much the opposite of mean. Extremely generous of me.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed and grins at me, handing me a coffee. I sit up and grudgingly take it.

“It’s absolutely adorable that you come on command, you know that right?”

“I’m too tired to react to you right now.”

I lean against him and yawn hugely.

“Isn’t a screaming orgasm a cocktail?” I ask him.

“I wouldn’t know, Rosie, you’re the aficionado on that, not me.”

I sigh and look into my coffee cup. “You reckon we should go see Steve today?”

He tenses slightly and, not for the first time, I regret not calling him “Gourley” the way Perry always does.

“I still don’t want you coming with me.”

“Like I said yesterday, tough shit. We should go today. Get it over with.”

“Will you be okay?”

I roll my eyes. “As much as I can be, yeah. It’s fine, you’re _not_ going on your own.”

“What if he starts messing with you again?”

“Then I’ll think about the two screaming orgasms you gave me last night and ignore him.”

The bravado is all fake and I’m sure he knows that, but I’m hardly going to admit that I’m absolutely terrified of going back into a room with Steve, am I? Plus, having Perry there with me has to make it better. Unless he starts talking about us having sex and pollutes that too. Ugh.

“You alright, JD? Only you just kinda went green.”

“… yeah…”

He gives me an appraising look. “Do I need to give you another screaming orgasm?”

“No… I think another one would actually kill me. Also, we really should stop just trying to solve all our problems by having sex.”

“That’s pretty standard in a relationship, isn’t it? And we don’t just try and solve problems by having sex, we use alcohol, passive-aggressiveness and humor as well. And sometimes ignore each other. Sounds pretty usual to me.”

Oh, he just used the R word again. I guess I should probably address that.

“Uh, yeah. So you know the other day when you said that you… kinda consider us as a couple?”

“Yeeeesss… I think I actually said “a couple or monogamous friends-but-not-really-friends-because-you-annoy-me-so-much with benefits”, but couple is acceptable.”

“Right, because it would take too long to refer to me as that, yeah? “This is JD, who I am engaged with in a monogamous friends-but-not-really-friends-because-you-annoy-me-so-much with benefits situation” doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.”

“Well, I’d probably call you Shelley, but yeah.”

“We could call it… F-B-N-R-F-B-Y-A-M-S-M with benefits partner-“

“Stephanie, I swear, this is torturous. Did you _have_ a point at any moment in this discussion? It’s like having a conversation with a concussed magpie.”

“Oh, sorry. Got distracted. Anyway, I was just… er, I was just gonna say that I… I kinda think of us as that too.”

He stares at me for a moment so I clarify “As in, a couple. Not the F-B-N-R-F-B-Y-A-M-S-M with benefits thing, because unlike you I can admit you’re my friend-“

“Shut up, Priscilla.”

He kisses me hard and then pulls back to softly stroke a hand down my neck.

“You managed to make what should have been quite a heart-warming moment a rambling mess. How do you actually _do_ that, Newbie? It’s incredible.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s alright. It wouldn’t really have been authentic if you’d been to the point and… well, you know, sane.”

“Well, you’re the idiot who’s in love with the insane, rambling moron.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Also, you do _not_ call me your girlfriend. At all. Under any circumstances.”

“Can’t promise that, Denise.”

“If you do then I’ll call you my better half.” He screws up his face and growls. “Or my _hubby_. Or my _bae_.”

He shuts me up by kissing me again. I pull my lips away from his to pant “Don’t you dare do it to me again.”

He totally does it to me again.

\- - - - -

I glance over at Newbie in the passenger seat of the Porsche.

“Hey, Veronica? You alright?”

He glances back at me, his face still tense. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Only I think the last thing you said to me was “Oh my God, there’s come everywhere” and that was about two hours ago.”

“Well, there was.”

“Are you pissed about that? I mean, it was mainly your’s.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You should be thanking me. Also, what happened to you being a bit squeamish about that?”

“You seem to have been doing exposure therapy on me.”

“Yeah I have.”

“It’s… getting better. Still makes me uncomfortable sometimes, but not as much. I’m hoping it will kinda go away over time. A bit like… a bit like I’d like to be able to have sex with you... like... missionary style.”

“Oh, yeah, that position is out of bounds for you, right?”

“Yeah, but I'd like to try it. I’d like to… and… uh…”

He trails off. I glance at him. “Don’t stop now, Daphne, I can never get you to talk dirty normally. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t think you’d like it…”

Oh, now I really am intrigued. What weird little fetish has he been hiding? “What? C’mon Newbie, it can’t be _that_ bad. You want me to wear a maid’s outfit? Pee on you? What?”

He’s gone bright red at me mentioning a maid’s outfit and I suspect that might come back to bite me at some point. Dirty Newbie kink.

“Nnooo…” he strangles out, although I’m pretty certain he’s slightly turned on by the maid’s outfit thing. “Nothing like that… just… I’d like to ffyuew.”

“You’d like to what?”

“I’d like to fuck you.”

He really has gone bright red. I’m confused.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t like that? I mean, I hafta admit that I’d prefer for me to be the top for the majority of the time, as I’d feel a bit awkward calling you girls’ names otherwise. But I’m not against us switching it up sometimes.”

“Well, just… y’know, you’ve not done it before and-“

“Why do you think that?”

“Um, because you said you’d not slept with any guys before.”

Oh shit, now it’s my turn to go red. The little bastard notices as well.

“… Oh my God, you’ve been pegged, haven’t you?”

“Newbie-“

“Jordan _totally_ pegged you, didn’t she?”

“Look, suffice to say, I’ve had some experience of that and I know that I can find it enjoyable-“

He starts to laugh.

“Shut _up_ , Eleanor.”

“Oh, I can totally see her doing that as well. Did you wear the maid’s uniform at the time?”

“I swear to God, I will pull over into that layby and do it to you again if you don’t shut up this instant.”

There’s about a minute’s silence where I stare furiously at the road and try to ignore the little bastard literally shaking with laughter next to me. He cracks eventually.

“Will you do it to me in a maid’s uniform? Only we’d have to go back to your place-“

I swing over into the layby.

\- - - - -

“Nnoooo,” he giggles into my shoulder.

“Relax, Sandra, I’m not actually going to do it again. Even someone as impressive as I am has limits. Anyway, we’ve run out of lube.”

“Aw,” he pouts at me.

“Well, at least I’m reassured that your whole “the lady doth protest too much” act was fake.”

“Obviously. If I didn’t want to I’d be pretty clear about it.”

“I know.” I kiss his forehead. “You alright? We’re only about a half hour away now and I wanted to talk with you.”

“Yeah…”

“We don’t have to do it today.”

“I just want to get it over with, you know? If we don’t do it today then I’ll just be dreading it until we do. It’s… like, in two hours it'll be done. Forever.”

“You’re hoping for closure?”

“I guess?”

“What if you don’t get it?”

“Then… then I tried. And I’ll get it someplace else.”

“Do you still need closure? I know you’re not… not fine all the time, but-“

“I think I need to do this.” He shrugs. “And I think you do too.”

I’m feeling awkward doing this, but I think he needs to hear this. Particularly now. “I’m really proud of how far you’ve come, you know?”

He gives me a slightly suspicious glance.

“Really, I mean that. And not just the… not just the sex and not just us. I’m _happy_ about that, it really does make me happy, but that’s pretty selfish. I mean other things. How you are at work, with your friends, even with your idiotic brother. Something like that happening could have changed you for the worse.”

“Do you really think I haven’t changed?”

His voice is sad, slightly lost. I decide to be honest. “I said change for the worse. Yeah, I think you have changed. You’re… I don’t know, wearier? More suspicious? But you’re stronger. You’re actually more empathetic, in a way. And you’re so fucking brave, JD. The fact that you can still do what you do – still be you, even if you have changed – is amazing. How many people do you think would just collapse, turn into bitter, sarcastic, vengeful shadows of themselves? That’s not you. You’re not that weak.”

He’s staring at me wide-eyed. “Do you mean that?”

I scoff. “You know I don’t give out compliments lightly.”

“… Thanks…”

“I mean it. I, however, am a bitter, sarcastic, vengeful shadow. I think I should probably warn you that I might murder Gourley.”

“Oh. Please don’t.”

“I’m aiming not to.”

“I really don’t want to have to come visit you in prison. Also, they’d hear about the maid’s uniform and you’d be everyone’s bitch.”

“Stop being fixated on that.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you want me to buy one?”

“… Actually, I kinda do…”

\- - - - -

Since Newbie has been here before I let him lead the way. He’s reverted back to his old, tense, slightly mechanical self. He’s been so much like he was before – goofy, spaced out, nerdy – that it’s a shock to see him like this again. I figure that both sides of him are now the “real JD”; this one and the one who was laughing in the Porsche at the idea of me in a maid’s uniform. They're both different sides to him, both authentically "JD". He pauses and glances back at me, resulting in me nearly colliding with him.

“Can we… can we not give anything away?”

“What do you mean?”

“If we go in there and are obvious then he’ll say whatever he can to screw things up.”

I frown. “You mean about us?”

“I mean… well, yeah, I mean about us. But also about what you want to know from him. Don’t just outright ask him. He’ll just try to get into your head. We need to play this right.”

He’s shifting uneasily. Something else is clearly bothering him. “What are you not saying?”

“I’m worried he’s going to say something that’ll ruin this. Us.”

“How could he do that?”

“I don’t know, but he’d find a way.”

JD’s gone incredibly pale, his eyes looking overlarge. He’s clearly terrified.

“Newbie, go back to the car.”

“No.”

“I don’t want to put you in this position-“

“No, I’m coming with you.”

I sigh. “Well, get moving then, Princess.”

He gives me a slightly weary look before turning around and continuing into the main reception. The woman at the desk glances up and smiles at the sight of him.

“Oh, you’re back! Mr Gourley will be _so_ pleased.”

JD pales even further and I glare at her. What the actual fuck does she think she’s doing? She looks surprised by the reaction and frowns.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Newbie responds, slightly too quickly. “I… I guess I just didn’t realize it made much of an impact on him.”

“Oh yes. Then he became quite morose when he thought you weren’t coming back.”

“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter. The woman gives me an annoyed look in response. JD glances back at me and narrows his eyes, clearly trying to get me to shut up. He then turns back to the woman.

“Can we see him today?”

“Both of you? That’s… unusual. The visiting suites aren’t really set up to allow two visitors at once.”

“I’m moral support,” I growl at her, well aware I sound utterly unconvincing.

“It’s fine, one of us will stand.” Newbie interjects. The woman gives him a quick smile and then produces disclaimers for us to sign before we’re ushered into some weird pastel blue room with two chairs and a table inside. Newbie starts to pace around nervously and then glances at me.

“You take the seat.”

“You look like you need it more-“

“Don’t suddenly start being chivalrous, Perry, take the fucking seat.”

It’s still weird hearing him call me that. I slump into the chair and watch him continue to pace around, occasionally nervously glancing at the door. I feel useless again, knowing how stressed he is and being unable to do anything about it. JD abruptly freezes and narrows his eyes at the sound of footsteps approaching.

I forgot how big Gourley was. He’s over six foot tall and broad shouldered. JD’s physically baulks at the sight of him, unconsciously stepping back slightly as Gourley enters the room. Gourley’s focused only on JD, a smirk on his face.

“John! I’m so glad you’ve _come_ again.”

Why did he emphasize that? What am I missing? Also, note to self; never, ever call him John, I don’t want to remind him of this bastard in _any_ way.

“Why are you standing?”

Gourley’s still standing up, apparently not willing to sit down and put himself at any sort of disadvantage. I think of what JD said; that Gourley liked having power over him, that it turned him on. That dynamic is still apparently driving Gourley, refusing to let JD have any semblance of control. What an utter bastard.

“Because the seat’s taken,” I snarl at him.

Gourley jumps and notices me for the first time.

“Doctor Cox! What a pleasant-“

“Just shut up and sit down, Gourley,” I grind out. To my surprise, he does and then looks between us curiously. There’s silence for about a minute before he speaks again.

“It’s interesting that you’re visiting, Doctor Cox.”

He’s entirely focused on me, apparently dismissing Newbie for the time being. I can feel him standing behind my chair and lean back slightly so my shoulder is lightly pressed against his hand gripping the back of the seat. It’s entirely for his benefit and not at all to give me any comfort, obviously.

“Why is it interesting?”

“Well, I guess you’re technically my doctor, right?”

“I technically _was_ your doctor, yes. I imagine you have your own dedicated physician here.”

“Oh, yes, Doctor Wainwright is very good. Patches me up very well.”

Gourley gesticulates at his left arm, which I realize for the first time is freshly bandaged. Considering that he was admitted to Sacred Heart from injuries due to self harming I'm relatively sure he did whatever's under the bandage to himself. Was this what that receptionist meant when she said he’d been “morose”? JD makes an odd noise behind me and I glance back to see that he’s staring at Gourley’s arm, an upset expression on his face. He’s feeling sympathetic, the little moron. I sigh slightly and turn back to Gourley, who seems to be enjoying watching JD’s distress at what he’s done.

“Yes, thanks for the reminder about how we all originally met. Now, why is it interesting that I visited?”

“You know that I had a lawyer, right? Before I entered my insanity plea I was given legal advice from a defense counsel who looked over all of the police notes.”

I lift my eyebrows. “And?”

“And he told me what was in them. Do you know that they suspected _you_ for a while, Doctor Cox? Thought that you and John had an ‘odd dynamic’ and thought you’d attacked him.”

Gourley’s smirking again, clearly thinking he’s landed something. I snort. “Doesn’t surprise me, Sutcliffe was an idiot.”

Gourley’s expression flickers slightly and then he frowns. “You aren’t upset?”

“Not really. How is that relevant to me visiting now?”

“I didn’t mean that, I just remembered it. What is interesting is that this is the first time we met since I gave you the knife.”

I stare at him levelly. He looks back at me and for the first time he seems nervous.

“Aren’t you worried about me mentioning-?“

“The first time we met since you gave me the knife _and…_?” I prod. Because, obviously, that's when Gourley said he saw how I looked at JD, that's when I started to have this irrational fear that I was just the same as him. Surely that's more memorable than the godforsaken knife that my idiotic boyfriend took along to his house when he broke in? Gourley now looks totally thrown, staring at me blankly. Clearly he was expecting me to panic. Why Gourley thinks that a reference to the knife would freak me out is beyond me, it can hardly hurt me or JD now. The other thing he did is what's still potentially painful.

“And what?”

He doesn’t remember. What I was terrified had been some terrible, demonic insight into my character had been the throwaway line from some psychotic, sadistic bastard. He hadn’t looked at me and seen something inside me that echoed something in him. He’d just been throwing out shit trying to get something to stick. And something had hit by chance rather than design. He’s not like me. I’m not like him. Relief floods me.

I lean back and cross my arms before grinning at him brightly, pressing my shoulderblade against JD’s knuckles.

“And nothing.”

“He’s just here as moral support,” JD suddenly speaks up from behind me. “Stop trying to poison him.”

I was expecting anger now and there is some. Gourley’s splayed his hands on the table and my eyes keep wandering back to them, at the size of them. Some part of my brain is furiously pointing out to me that those hands touched and violated and hurt someone that I love, that those hands should be ripped off and destroyed for the acts that they did. That for hurting my clingy, whiny, girly, beloved Newbie Gourley should be despised and hurt in all the ways he hurt JD.

But I can feel pity as well, to my shock. Because Gourley isn’t some deep, insightful savant, as I had been scared he was. He’s a sad bastard who’s lonely and threw that line out to make me think I’m like him because he _wants_ other people to be like him. And he clearly does it so often that he doesn’t even remember saying it to me any more.

He’s a pathetic loser. He was hurt and rather than deal with it and work through it the way JD is doing, he just visited it on someone else, so he could _control_ someone else and he still hasn’t quite dropped the desire to do that, despite being caught. And I’m pretty certain JD’s realized that too now, as he’s stopped holding into the back of the chair and has put his hand on my shoulder in an unmistakably proprietary, protective way. Gourley’s staring.

“Poison him, John? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

There’s a pause, Gourley’s eyes continuing to fixate on where JD’s touching me.

“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s doing that?” Gourley suddenly asks me.

“What?”

“Touching you like that?”

“No.”

Gourley’s eyes widen as he looks between the two of us and then suddenly leans forward. “John, when you came to see me you were asking about whether I’d been able to have relationships. Were you talking about _him_ then?”

“No.” JD mirrors Gourley, leaning forwards over the chair, hooking his forearms over the back of it and glaring down at him, his upper arm pressed against mine. It’s an unmistakably controlling, almost dominating gesture as he faces down Gourley. I’m mildly surprised to find it’s turning me on slightly, which seems ridiculous considering the circumstances.

“No, I wasn’t talking about him,” JD continues, his voice level. “Me and Doctor Cox would be a pretty weird couple.”

I don’t dare breathe, carefully watching Gourley for a reaction. JD's played him to get a definitive response on whether Gourley genuinely saw any attraction between us. An almost relieved grin runs over Gourley’s face. “Yeah, you would. Not a likely one, I mean he’s straight and you’re-“

“And I’m leaving.” JD smiles at him, straightening up and looking as calm and cool and collected as a manipulative little bastard can look. “You’ve answered the question we had now and I’m not going to listen to any more of your shit.”

Gourley stares at him in shock as Newbie gloriously turns on his heel and stalks out, pausing at the door to glance back at me. “You coming?”

I gaze back rapturously at my magnificent, ridiculous, adored Newbie. “In a minute.”

I turn back to Gourley, who’s staring at the door JD just exited out of.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

“Nope.” I inform him cheerfully.

“But-“

“And now you listen to _me_ carefully, Gourley, you pathetic, whining loser.” I snarl. Gourley jumps and stares at me. I lean forward and lower my voice.

“At some point, these deluded, care-in-the-community, soft-hearted psychdocs will decide to release you, probably in a relatively speedy way because of the bullshit charm you seem to be able to deploy on these morons. If you hurt anyone else then the police will _abso-hutely_ arrest you and lock you up and throw away the key. But if you come _anywhere_ near JD ever again then you’ll run into me. And Gourley, if you _ever_ run into me again then I will hurt you and then I will kill you. And I’m a _doctor_ , Gourley, I know how to _really_ draw that shit out. So you stay the fuck away, because I’m not like JD. He’s got sympathy and empathy for someone like you even now. But I’m more concerned about the welfare of the raccoon that keeps knocking my trashcan over at two in the morning than I am about your arm.”

Yeah, so maybe I am still angry.

As I’ve been speaking he’s been scrabbling at the bandage and has unwrapped most of the gauze.

“I know what I am.”

“Do you really? A lot of people say that Gourley, 90% of them don’t really know.”

He lifts his arm, the bandage falling off. Under the healed “worthless” scar, he’s carved “monster” into himself. I stare at it for a moment, feeling a combination of pity and disgust. How did I ever think I could potentially be like this guy?

“Well, congratulations. You’re one of the self-aware 10%.”

\- - - - -

We’ve been driving in silence for about half an hour now. Perry’s grinning, the relief emanating from him is almost palpable. I’m slumped in my seat, my feet up in his lap which he appears to be allowing despite his usual strict rules regarding touching him when he’s driving the Porsche. The passenger seat car window is open and I’ve got my eyes closed, the breeze ruffling my hair, the cool air running over my hot skin.

I think I’ve finally figured out how to phrase this without sounding insane. I still keep my eyes closed as I say it, mainly to avoid seeing Perry looking at me like I’m crazy if I’m talking utter bullshit right now.

“He thought he was a puppet master, right?”

“Hm, Newbie?”

“Steve. He thought he was a… a puppeteer. Like, controlling. He controlled me physically and when that got taken away he tried to keep doing it emotionally and mentally.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

“I didn’t fully understand it until I saw him trying to do it with you. That’s why he said that shit about you being like him to you, right? Just trying to freak you out because he could. He didn’t even remember saying it to you.”

“He didn’t quite say it like that, but yeah. I can’t believe I ever thought that now.”

“But he’s not a puppeteer. He’s a puppet. A little performer in a cage, with no power and no control over anything. And that’s why he does that shit. Deep down he knows he’s a puppet. He's just doing what was done to him and not moving on. And he hates it.”

I open my eyes and stare out of the window at the blue sky.

“I feel sorry for him.”

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

I frown. What I’m about to say next feels pretty momentous.

“I forgive him.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Perry look over at me sharply. “After what he did? After what he just tried to do?”

“Him doing that just shows how little control over himself he really has. That he’s still trying. He’s like a declawed cat, still trying to scratch. I’m not saying I’ve forgotten what he did. Just… just I forgive him for it.”

I don’t add that I even forgive him for making me think that I could be like him. Because that now seems so utterly preposterous that it’s not even worth mentioning.

“I don’t forgive him.”

I smile at Perry. “I know you don’t. You wouldn’t be you if you did.”

He grins at me. “You were _so right_ when you said we’d be a pretty weird couple.”

I snigger. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”

I close my eyes again and lean my head back. “I think I’ll write him and tell him that. That I forgive him.”

“He’d probably appreciate that.”

Perry sounds odd. I think there’s a slight edge of pity to his voice. He’s developing a new emotion, it’s a school day for all of us.

“And then I just want to move on from this. Move on with our lives.”

He strokes a hand along my ankle for a moment. “How are we going to do that?”

I open my eyes. “I’ve got a couple ideas.”

\- - - - -

It’s dusk, the stars just starting to come out. A gentle breeze runs through the grasses and I shiver slightly, hunkering down against Perry. It’s like lying on a human stove, he runs on hot. He smiles at me and pulls the corner of the blanket we’re lying on over me.

“Why are you always so warm?” I ask him.

“Because I’m a hot-blooded human, Newbie, rather than a lizard person like you.”

“Well, you’re the one who fucks the lizard person.”

“Charming.”

“I mean, that basically makes you into bestiality, right?”

“Shut up, you little reptile.”

He rolls on top of me and kisses me. I squirm against him, trying to steal his heat. He slides his arms around me and breaks the kiss to pull back and look at me.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah. We can always stop.”

“And you’re sure about doing it _here_?”

He glances around the meadow. Whilst we’ve been talking dusk has quickly progressed into night, the moonlight turning the grasses around us silver. I stare around us. It looks beautiful. It feels somehow other-worldly, the feeling heightened by both of us being naked. His skin almost looks like it’s glowing in the moonlight.

He looks beautiful.

I smile. “Yeah. I think it’s romantic.”

“I think it’ll make my knees go,” he grumbles at me.

“Oh, stop whining Penelope.” I grin at him.

“Don’t you dare steal my material, Grace.”

He kisses me hard, reaching over to the corner of the blanket to grab the lube and start to warm it with his hands. I growl against his lips and reach down to stroke his cock, feeling his erection throb into my palm. I imagine what that would feel like inside me, without a condom between us and feel my cock twitch in response.

No, one thing at a time. Try this first. Also, we’re both getting tested before we try any of that shit. And he’ll inevitably make some joke about me getting a coil because he doesn’t want to get me pregnant.

My slightly rambling thoughts are interrupted by him sliding a slick finger into me, which focuses my attention very specifically on what he’s doing. I roll my head back and groan and he kisses along my throat gently.

“Lift your legs, Newbie.”

I hook my ankles up over his back and whine softly as he slides a second finger into me, continuing to kiss and nip along my neck, moving down to feather kisses over my clavicle. I arch my back, abruptly sliding his fingers deeper into me and we both moan.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart” seems to have trumped “Newbie” as his nickname of choice for me, which I’m rather pleased about. I should probably come up with something to call him, although I’m enjoying the novelty of “Perry” still.

There’s a slightly awkward pause where I realize I’ve been internally monologuing rather than answering his question and he’s looking kind of pissed now.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Please do focus, Sandra, this is a big deal for both of us.”

So much for “sweetheart”.

“Sorry.”

“How… how do I…?”

He’s looking slightly lost, still leaning over me.

“Missionary’s… slightly different between two guys. It’ll be quite hard to start like that, sit up.”

"You've been on Google again making notes, haven't you?"

"You know how much I like to ace my homework."

He sits up on his haunches, gently sliding his fingers out of me. I lever myself up on my elbows.

“And then you need to lean forward a bit so I can get my legs up over your shoulders…”

He catches my ankles and swiftly drags them up over his shoulders, sprawling me flat onto my back.

“… or you could just do that…” I comment to the stars, listening to the sound of him ripping open a condom packet and sliding it on. I wriggle my feet slightly, feeling the cool air running over my heels.

I can’t actually see him easily without really craning my neck, so lie there, feeling the breeze washing over my body, my erection throbbing. His shoulders feel warm and solid under my ankles and I slide my toe along his neck, feeling his curls against my feet.

He grasps my ankles again, stroking a finger along the arch of one of my feet.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah. I… I can’t really see you, I want to see you.”

I wriggle up onto my elbows and he leans forwards further to keep the angle right, so that my calves are against his shoulder rather than my ankles. I look up into his eyes and nod at him. “I’m ready now.”

He nods back at me, his eyes wide, before slowly pressing into me.

I gasp, watching his face as he slowly but surely sinks into me. The slight worried expression that was there earlier has gone and he just looks blissful. My cock pulses hard at his expression and the way his eyes roll when he’s finally fully inside me. His balls are pressed against my ass and I groan, expecting this to cause some flicker of memory, but there’s nothing there but the here and now.

“Oh… oh God…” I gasp out.

“I want to kiss you,” he growls at me, leaning forward. I crook my legs back and press up with my elbows to meet him. We kiss hard, teeth and lips clashing before we break apart. I pant against his lips as I feel his cock twitch deep inside me. He groans and then we kiss again, this time softly, gently, tongues and lips dancing rather than warring. He eventually break apart, and he gently caresses my face, the other hand braced on the ground next to my arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Your legs don’t hurt like this?”

“No, this is okay.”

My shoulders are shaking slightly from the strain of holding myself up, so I relax them, sinking down slightly. I gaze up at him, at the moonlight on his shiny coils of hair, at the tender expression on his face and he looks back down at me.

“I love you,” I tell him.

“I love you too, JD.”

As he says it he starts to move and I cry out softly. It feels like he’s deeper inside me than he has been before, it feels more intimate. It should feel invasive, make me feel vulnerable, but it doesn’t.

“Ohhh fuck,” I groan. Perry apparently takes this as encouragement to speed up to a gentle but steady pace and to start firmly pumping my cock in time with his thrusts. I groan again and brace my elbows against the ground to start moving against him, rocking as much as I can to sink him deeper inside me. Rather than the repeated stimulation of my prostate that he’s managed before, this feels different, pleasure curling inside me from the continual movement rather than the sharp stabs of pleasure from having sex previously.

“Oh God,” he moans and then abruptly drops down onto his elbows. My legs protest slightly, my knees now pressed against my chest. I can feel him trembling slightly and stroke a hand through his hair softly. He catches it and then kisses the palm, looking down at me, continuing to gently thrust into me.

“Are your legs alright like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because it feels fucking amazing.”

I’m still propped up on my elbows and so slide back down fully onto my back so I feel slightly less like I’m being bent in half. Not really sure what to do with my hands, I splay them palm up on the ground next to me and drive my hips up against him in time to his thrusts. He groans again and moves his right hand to the small of my back to help me. The feeling of his hand pressing against my spine makes the curling pleasurable sensation increase in intensity.

I jump slightly as his left hand interlinks with mine, wrapping his fingers between mine and tightly gripping it. I squeeze back, feeling our wrists pressed together, our pulse points meeting. Most of his weight still seems to be on his elbow so the pressure isn’t crushing. I gasp and look up into his eyes. He’s gazing down at me, that same tender, slightly vulnerable expression on his face. I’m pretty sure I look the same. God, this is intimate, much more than I thought it would be. Part of me’s scared that I’m going to get lost in this, that it’ll overwhelm and terrify me, that I’m surfing on a wave and if I fall in I’ll drown.

But I’m not going to fall in because he won’t let me. I grin at him and lean up to kiss him and he kisses me back, an urgent, slightly desperate edge to it.

“Use your hand,” he pants against my lips.

“What?”

“Use your hand… on yourself. I can’t and I’m not going to last much longer.”

As if to emphasize this he thrusts into me harder, forcing a choked cry out of me. I quickly move my free hand to start jerking myself off in time to him fucking me, all the sensations in my body suddenly making themselves known to me. I was getting so lost in the intimacy of the thing I was almost ignoring the slow, building pleasure/pressure sensation it was creating. My body apparently hadn’t, since when I wrap my hand around my cock I can feel it coated in precome, a fair bit of which has also ended up in Perry’s happy trail.

I feel myself twitch around his cock in response to the stimulation and he presses his forehead against mine, his face slightly screwed up as he tries to keep himself under control. The sensation is building steadily inside me, the curling, coiling pleasure starting to turn into a boiling feeling running along my spine and through my stomach. I pant softly and start to feather kisses across his face, on his nose and cheeks before claiming his lips. He kisses me back sporadically, unusually clumsily for him.

“Stop holding yourself back,” I whisper to him and he opens his eyes in surprise.

“But I want us to finish together.”

Him saying that sends a spike of pure pleasure through me and I grunt slightly, tensing around him again. He hisses softly between his teeth.

“We probably will, I’m nearly there,” I pant back. He stares at me for a moment and then rears back onto his haunches, grabs my legs just underneath my knees and starts to fuck into me hard.

The simmering pleasure inside me abruptly feels like it’s been ignited. He’s _so_ deep and all I can feel is him, I don’t know where he ends and I begin and everything is pure pleasure. My cock is hot and throbbing in my hand.

“Oh God, ohgodohgodohgodohgodohmygod…”

I fling my head back and arch my back, letting out a sharp wail as suddenly and slightly unexpectedly I’m orgasming hard. His hips stutter in response, before speeding up even further for another five or six thrusts before he’s moaning out my name and I can feel him pulse and spasm inside me as he comes.

I’m still lying there panting, staring at the stars (both literally and figuratively) and trying to get my brain to function when he pulls out, drops my legs down onto the blanket and then collapses down next to me, breathing heavily. He wraps a hand around mine and lies next to me, looking up at the sky.

“That was incredible,” he pants to me after a minute. I nod, still not quite sure how to speak.

We did it. Something I was so scared of and it was fine. It's like the sensation that I had after I had sex with Jack that first time, the pure relief and urge to just go “fuck you, you didn’t break me”. The pure elation of it. I can’t help it, I start to laugh, the pleasure and relief and sheer happiness bubbling out of me in a genuine, authentic laugh.

And, of course, because he’s him he’s not offended by it, he gets why I’m laughing. Because he’s him he understands what that meant to me and what it means to us. And because he’s him he gets it so much he starts laughing too.

God, he’s got a gorgeous laugh when he’s really laughing, rather than making an amused bark or a sarcastic snicker.

After a minute when we’ve both stopped lying on the ground laughing like idiots he rolls onto his side to look at me, still holding my hand.

“So, you said there were a couple things you wanted to do next. What’s the other one?”

“Oh…” I grin at him. “Well, that involves… um, well, I guess a role reversal…”

He smirks. “Fine by me, Newbie, but you’re not doing that to me in a field. It’ll wreck my back.”

I roll onto my side, mirroring his pose and wrap my arms and legs around him. “You totally want me to wreck your back.”

He grins at me. “Yeah I do.”

We start to laugh again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had wayyyy more sex in it than was originally planned. 
> 
> Also, maybe this is weird, but I am with JD; I feel very sorry for Steve. Not enough to forgive him or think anything he ever did was acceptable, but I intentionally had both Steve and JD having mirrored responses to trauma. They both want to exert control over their environment in response to what happened to them. The difference being that JD tries to control things he can control to feel secure (e.g. the door locking, the obsessiveness around food and exercise, etc.) whilst Steve tries to directly control others, either through manipulation or physically. JD is mildly manipulative, but I think this is a character trait already and he never does it in the same unpleasant way Steve does. I didn't just want Steve to be a villain with no exploration of his motivation or just saying he is plain evil or sadistic (although that's what Perry thinks and, meh, fair enough).
> 
> (Incidentally, yes, Steve's arm now has "worthless monster" on it, rather than two separate statements.)
> 
> I know this reads like it's the end, but there are 2 more chapters :)


	24. 24. My Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather rambling and long. I would apologise for this, but it rather weirdly ended up as being JD writing a chapter himself and so it being long and rambling just kind of fitted. He's categorised it for you to try to make it easier to read.
> 
> Not going to lie, I really enjoyed writing this one.

So… stuff progressed from there.

I mean, Perry and I didn’t just spend the last 9ish years living happily ever after or all that Disney shit. However much he seems to think that I think I’m one of the Princesses. Most Disney stories don’t often start out with “the love of my life and I got together after I was raped”, it’s not exactly fairytale stuff.

So, yeah, we’re… kind of… normal? I’m not even sure how to categorize the last few years, so I’ll try to theme it. That kinda works, right?

Nicknames:

V important with us. After various trial and error, I’m pretty sure that Perry’s most frequent nicknames for me are as follows:

(1. Girls’ names, but since he deploys different ones I’m leaving them off the list as technically he only repeats the same name about once per 2 years, he's very careful about that)

  1. "Newbie" (old favorite)
  2. "Sweetheart" (for when he’s feeling particularly affectionate and/or guilty about something)
  3. “Little bastard” or variations of such (e.g. “little moron”, “little sex pest”, “little psycho” and “little clingy, annoying bastard”)



Very romantic, I know.

Incidentally, we went on holiday to Greece a few years ago and Perry discovered that the Greek equivalent of calling your lover "babe" is "Μωρός", which translated means "moron". Apparently it's not a slur there. He likes to use that when he's feeling offensive and vaguely European. It's pronounced "Morós" if you have any particular desire to use it to annoy and alienate your lover.

I didn't like being in Greece, I was constantly worried someone would see the tattoo and ask me why the hell I'd gotten that tattooed onto my back.

I tend towards just “Perry”, generally speaking. I tried variations on this. He doesn’t like “Percival” and I once called him “Percy” and learned very rapidly that this was a terrible idea. I don’t like “Per”, it just sounds weird to me. He also strongly dislikes being called “Val”. So I’m kinda limited on this and feel I’m being pretty unimaginative compared to his wide repertoire of names he uses on me. I tend towards “Perry”, “gorgeous”/”handsome” if trying to have sex with him (generally works, the massive narcissist) and I will occasionally use “sweetheart” back at him. I did go through a spate of calling him various French names beginning with P that were _not_ Percival (i.e. Pierre, Pasquale, Patrice, Philippe, Pierrepont, etc.), which seemed to generally amuse him, but there are only a finite number of them. I still occasionally use Pierre, he likes that because it turns out it means “rock”. Go figure.

I still occasionally call him “Doctor Cox”. Rather embarrassingly, after we’d been together around 6 months I accidentally called him “Doctor Cox” whilst… er, _in flagrante_. Actually, literally as I was orgasming. He has been on a mission ever since to make me call him that during sex. He succeeds roughly every two months. It’s kinda annoying.

\- - - - -

After we’d been dating about two years we were discussing something in Sacred Heart (I forget what) and Carla overheard him call me “JD”. Of course, she jumped right in there with half of the medical staff listening in:

“Oh, Doctor Cox! You _finally_ called JD by his real name!”

Perry had been pissed, not liking to be called out like this in front of a load of other people. (Also, it's not actually my real name, but I know what she meant.)

“What, Carla?”

She’d looked slightly non-plussed by this, but carried on: “Well, you called him JD. You know, short for John Dorian, his real actual non-girls’ name name?”

Perry had frowned at her. “You clearly misheard me, Carla, I called him Jadey. As in Jade with a y at the end.”

Now, I’m a very reasonable guy. But I kind of treasure him actually calling me JD and that hurt quite a bit. I know he was just saying that because he doesn’t like having things like that highlighted, he’s actually weirdly private about some stuff. However, that was… sort of the last straw. In what Perry later described as my “epic hissy fit” I rather flatly said “fuck you, Perry” back at him and then didn’t speak to him for a week. This was quite awkward as we lived and worked together at the time. He slept in the spare room, my angry glare apparently enough to convince him to not even try anything else.

After this week, he announced to the entire medical staff that he did sometimes call me “JD”, not “Jadey” and that I was a pissy little bitch, but he’d appreciate it if I stopped ignoring him. I was actually incredibly relieved, I was super horny by this point. I may or may not have had sex with him in the on-call room within about fifteen minutes of this announcement. So, this leads nicely on to:

Sex:

The ole’ beast with two backs, horizontal jogging, getting nasty. Oh yeah.

I’m not going to pretend that I never ever freaked out again during sex. It did still occasionally happen, but never to the same extent as that first time, usually because Perry’s become pretty adept at reading when I’m starting to go a bit weird (it's me going a bit weird, I'm allowed to say that, anyone else saying that would be being insensitive). But apart from an occasional blip like that – well, _God_ , it’s awesome. He’s absolutely fucking amazing.

One thing we did notice relatively early on was that I have a slightly higher sex drive than him. I felt quite smug about this at the time, until he basically pointed out that this was because I still had the emotional and sexual maturity of a teenager. I replied something along the lines of whether I needed to score the old man some Viagra, which of course resulted in him very graphically demonstrating that he didn’t need any help getting or sustaining an erection. But anyway, I do seem to want to have sex slightly more often than him – it’s not massively different or anything, he’s not sat in bed with a pipe reading whilst I hump his leg and drool like The Todd when he sees large breasts. It does tend to result in me pestering him when he’s trying to watch sports or something else equally boring.

To be honest, I think he actually _likes_ that I pester him for sex. He’ll complain and bitch and moan and then quite happily screw me (or be screwed, he wasn’t just saying that when he said he was willing to switch it up and _God_ it is hot either way). But he keeps up this act that he’s somehow this long-suffering martyr to my deviant ways. He loves it, the contrary old bastard.

And yeah, I do sometimes go on top. I managed this the first time without having a total neurotic panic attack that I was hurting him (“for fuck’s sake Newbie, _no_ , you’re not hurting me, now fuck me properly or I’ll make you wear the maid’s outfit again”). After that point it’s a semi-regular thing with us; he generally fucks me, but we’ll subvert it now and then. He actually wasn’t joking about not feeling he could use the girls’ names if the ratio slips the other way, he genuinely keeps an eye on it. This is the man I love, ladies and gentleman, a man who keeps a mental tally of who fucked who most often so he knows how confidently he can call me Sheila.

Also, no comment on the maid’s outfit. It started as a joke. We now hide it in the closet and get it out for special occasions or when one of us has pissed the other one off.

One fun thing I have discovered is that – unsurprisingly – he’s massively competitive. He doesn’t exactly compete with me per se, but becomes slightly fixated on stuff. I – for example and if I say so myself – have developed an exceptionally good blow job technique. I can absolutely get him to come exactly how and when I want. Most guys would be very pleased to have a partner who can do this. Perry is not and sees it as an affront to his pride that I’m better than him at it. So I cheerfully told him that he could practice on me as often as he liked.

I am absolutely winning in this relationship. Also, despite his repeated practicing, I’m still better than him, much to his annoyance.

Also, he gets weirdly stressed out if he comes and I don’t during sex. He genuinely keeps a tally of this as well. I think he views it as a challenge to his manhood if I don’t and obsesses about it until he can even the score out. He’s really odd.

Technology:

Not entirely sure why I included this category? Apart from to say that I _hate_ WhatsApp. We started using it and it immediately gave away my huge secret regarding replying to his messages and then timing sending them back so as not to seem too eager. Because, of course, the evil little program shows when you’ve read something and then when you’re typing. So he, of course, saw that I immediately read all his messages and then appear to type for around three minutes before replying with “yes” or something equally short.

And, of course, he didn’t tell me he knew this for about three months.

I don’t do that any more. Obviously.

Although I do sometimes read his messages in the alerts tab and then pretend I opened them about half an hour later because, you know, I’m so cool and busy and important and not at all utterly and uselessly besotted with him and desperate to know what he’s saying to me.

Telling people:

Linked to communications, oh yeah, I’m _nailing_ this.

So, obviously, Dan, Elliot, Carla and Turk all knew about us from very early on (thank you, Dan). We kept it like that for quite a while, with me continuing to be slightly neurotic about how people might react and Perry not really caring what anyone thought. As I mentioned earlier, he is oddly private about certain things and doesn’t really like being seen to care for me publicly. This is clearly a huge bonus in a relationship and does not at all make me feel small and shitty. He’s also not fond of PDAs and doesn’t really understand why people “feel the need to maul each other in public” and reserves his mauling for when we’re in private.

We may have argued about this quite a few times. He was happy for people to know we’re together but not happy for them to know he loves me, which is obviously ridiculous. I was happy for people to know I love him (everyone knows this anyway), but not that we’re together. I didn’t make much more sense than him, but at least my weird hang ups weren’t hurtful.

Or I thought that, until he accused me of being embarrassed to be seen as dating him. In the first year or so we did argue about this quite a lot. I didn’t realize that was bothering him until he spat it out at me during an argument. Because, _obviously,_ I’m not embarrassed. I was mainly freaked out about what people will think about me, which I know was a bit self-obsessed, but at least I admit that.

Him saying that had genuinely shocked me. Because I hadn’t even considered that he might be thinking that and that it was hurting him so much.

Of course, I immediately turned to mush, declared how utterly un-embarrassed I was to be dating him and that I’d yell it from the rooftops that I was proud to be with him. He’d rapidly told me to "shut up, Sarah, and let’s discuss it rationally". The next day we’d announced it at Sacred Heart, initially to Kelso who reacted almost exactly as I’d imagined (“I don’t care, I don’t want to think about that, you’ve put me off my lunch”) and then to the staff. They mainly didn’t care. However, a few things happened afterwards as I’ve summarized below:

**_Thing one:_ **

<The dead of night, Perry and I sleeping together in my bed>

Me: <sitting bolt upright, suddenly awake> Perry!

Perry: <still mostly asleep> What?

Me: Perry!

Perry: What is it, you annoying bastard?

Me: We told everyone at Sacred Heart!

Perry: I know Veronica, I was there.

Me: Which means the board will know soon enough, right?

Perry: I guess? You suddenly interested in the cut throat world of corporate medicine?

Me: _Jordan’s_ on the board, Perry.

Perry: <small noise of fear and horror>

(More on this later.)

**_Thing two:_ **

Turk and I sat in the cafeteria talking. The Todd walks over, throws his tray down and lifts a hand.

The Todd: High five, dude!

Turk: <high fives> Surgery bro!

The Todd: I wasn’t talking to you, man, I was talking to JD.

Me: Me?

The Todd: Yeah, you. High five, dude!

Me: <suspiciously> What for?

The Todd: You’re boning, like, the hottest guy here. High five, man!

Turk: <noise of protest at Perry being the hottest guy>

Me: <crisp high five>

The Todd: So, dude, have you guys made any videos? I bet they’d be _hot_.

**_Thing three (sounding more and more like a Dr Seuss book):_ **

Me in locker room, searching through my locker. The door is opened loudly and dramatically.

Janitor: So!

Me: So?

Janitor: So!

Me: … So… what?

Janitor: I hear you and angry doc are an item.

Me: Uh…

Janitor: This is disappointing. He is an occasional ally of mine and this has thrown the balance off.

Me: Why are you talking like that? You sound like a robot. Are you part of Skynet? That wouldn't be surprising, actually.

Janitor: Just you listen, Scooter. I know you entirely hooked up with angry doc to protect yourself from me –

Me: I really didn’t.

Janitor: - but it won’t work. I’ll bring him down too if I have to.

Me: You’re pathologically insane, you know that, right?

Janitor: <nods briskly and returns to mopping the floor, soaking my scrubs pants as he does so>

**_Thing four (this thing is a shit thing):_ **

I’m not going to write a cutesy script for this one, because it really upset me.

About five years ago, Perry was made Chief of Medicine. As a result he needed a new attending; Elliot and I were both fellows at the time and there was some general assumptions that he’d pick one of us (also lots of gossip that it would be me because, you know, I sleep with him). However, he repeated the old “labradoodle” rant he’d used when he was picking a new chief resident, finishing with telling us that he didn’t want a labradoodle as an attending, despite how much it amused him to watch the weird robotic labradoodle try to interact with people and how much he enjoyed living with the other one and taking it for long walks in the park and occasionally cleaning up after it when it got overexcited and had yet another accident.

It was a very long rant. And I'm still unsure whether he was implying I got so excited I peed myself or came in my pants, he wasn't really clear on that. Anyway, he finished by telling us that we both needed to focus on our fellowships and it was too soon for either of us to be attendings. I was pretty sanguine about this; I’d missed a fair bit of my residency because of the whole Steve incident and so it was a relief to not feel I was being pushed into something I wasn’t really ready for. Elliot was really pissed though, particularly since Perry had just made Turk chief of surgery and Carla the nurse supervisor. Around a year later, after feeling she was being underestimated, Elliot actually left Sacred Heart to become an attending at a nearby rival hospital and work in private medicine, much to Perry’s annoyance.

Instead of selecting someone internal, Perry brought in a new attending, Doctor Summers. I actually really liked Summers. He was in his early forties with swept-back light brown hair and the sort of good looks that meant everyone tended to be charmed by him. Perry thought he was superficial and referred to him as “synthetic Summers” on occasion, since he did sort of look like a GI Joe.

Summers was also, I thought, quite a nice guy. He seemed a bit fake sometimes, he had one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes and liked to use management talk ("best foot forward", "think outside of the box", "blue sky thinking", etc.), but generally speaking was very pleasant. He was actually very supportive in terms of mine and Elliot’s fellowships and was a pretty big change from Perry constantly belittling us. We both thought he was a pretty good guy.

That, of course, was before he heard some hospital gossip that I was bi and had, in fact, been sleeping with the previous (male) attending. Because, it turned out, Summers was a full-blown homophobic bigot. Ironically, whatever rumor he heard had omitted that Perry was the previous attending and I think Summers assumed that his predecessor had left the hospital, rather than been promoted into management.

His attitude _completely_ changed. He spoke to and looked at me like I was disgusting. I kept telling myself that it was fine, I could deal with it, he was just an asshole.

One time we were both working on a procedure and he requested the items I just used be disinfected before he use them. Afterwards I’d turned to Carla.

“Can you _believe_ that guy?”

“What, he’s just following good hygiene practices.”

“I’m wearing gloves, Carla.”

She’d looked slightly uncomfortable. “Why don’t you tell Perry?”

“Because I can deal with it, it’s fine.”

I’d chased him down afterwards.

“Excuse me, Doctor Summers?”

“Yes, Doctor Dorian?”

“I… I just feel like how you acted back there made me feel kind of uncomfortable-“

He’d lifted an eyebrow at this, pretty effectively silencing me. He sneered, twisting his stupid handsome face.

“Oh, you feel _uncomfortable_ , do you Dorian? Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“I just mean-“

“I wouldn’t bother reporting that to management. I’m pretty careful about what I say Dorian, and you’ll just come across as whining about some imagined slight. In some hospitals you might get away with it, what with your ‘protected status’ or whatever the fuck it is that people classify your abnormality as, but Cox strikes me as a sensible guy, if a bit of a miserable bastard. He’d never give you the time of day.”

I’d been left standing there in the corridor like an idiot. Even the Janitor, who I had then noticed had been pretending to mop nearby, didn’t bother tormenting me, which probably shows how crushed I must have looked.

Summers also stopped asking me any questions during rounds, which he appeared to be using to store up evidence of a lack of medical knowledge. This continued for a while, until one particularly bad day when I was trailing around with the rest, staring sadly at patients and wondering how much longer I had to do this before I could quit and go start running a daycare center for puppies.

“What are some examples of opportunistic infections that can occur during the symptomatic phase of HIV. Doctor Dorian?”

Of course, I knew if was coming as soon as he said HIV. I stared back at him levelly. “PCP, toxoplasmosis, TB and kaposi sarcoma.”

“Correct. But I suppose you need to know those kinds of things.”

It was _so_ borderline, but I guess he could have explained that away as saying I needed to know that as a doctor. I felt Elliot tense next to me as Summers smirked and turned away to continue on his rounds.

“Excuse me, Doctor Summers?”

I stared at her in horror. What was she doing?

“Yes, Elliot?” (Only I was Doctor Soandso, everyone else was called by their first names or nicknames. I had been JD right up until Summers’ bigot alert had activated.)

She’d stepped forward and had narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think that’s fair. You never ask JD any questions during rounds and then you chose to ask him _that_?”

“Elliot-“ I said quietly, but she continued.

“JD’s a really competent doctor and I feel like-“

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Elliot. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”

Oh no. Summers was handsome, older and casually cruel in a way that probably reminded her of her father.

“No thanks. I don’t date people like _you_.”

Summers looked shocked for a moment, clearly not expecting that. He’d then shrugged.

“Your loss.”

“Not one I’ll cry about. By the way, straight people get HIV.”

“Elliot,” I groaned.

\- - - - -

Later Elliot rounded on me.

“JD, how can you let that loser treat you like that?”

“Elliot, what am I supposed to say? He’s never done anything that would be outright-“

“Just tell Cox to fire him!”

“For what reason?”

“Well, what does he think about it all?”

I shiftily looked down at my nails and then my shoes. Ooh, Velcro.

“Seriously? You’ve not told him?”

“You know what he’s like. He massively overreacts, I really don’t want to be part of his defense case about why he beat Summers to death with the vending machine in the gift shop.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t tell him.”

She shook her head and walked away.

\- - - - -

That evening I noticed Perry and Summers talking at the nurse’s station, which Perry tended to hang around at because he hated his office and kept partially destroying it. He once tried to throw the desk out the window when feeling particularly annoyed.

Summers seemed to be talking pretty animatedly to Perry about something and clearly hadn’t quite figured out how to read Perry’s (admittedly limited) facial expressions. Perry had his arms folded and I’m pretty sure had just touched his nose, despite his face being fixed in a slightly rictus grin. Summers eventually finished just as Perry’s eyes wandered over his shoulder and noticed me standing there.

The grin dropped and he suddenly looked furious. Oh shit, what had Summers just told him?

“Hey, Judy? Come over here.”

I trailed over to them, feeling miserable. I could see Summers smirking behind Perry.

“So, Petal, Doctor Summers here was just telling me about your little exploits before he was the attending here. That you used your feminine wiles to seduce the previous attending so that he thought you were a halfway competent doctor, whilst apparently the only question you’ve correctly answered at rounds with Doctor Summers refers to symptoms of an STI.”

I stared at him blankly. Oh God, he was going to murder everyone. We’d have to go on the run together to South America and buying matching sombreros.

We’d need to let Carla live, she’d be able to translate.

“Now, Charlotte, stop daydreaming. What do you have to say about all this?”

“Um, that the only question Doctor Summers has asked me during rounds refers to an STI. And it was about secondary infections, not symptoms.” Summers scoffs theatrically at this. I bite my lip. “And… er, yeah, I did sleep with the previous attending, but that’s because he’s really hot. He already thought I was a great doctor.”

Perry was keeping his angry face on, but I could totally see him trying not to grin at me. I could also essentially read his mind at this point and he was entirely thinking “let’s mess with this guy”.

“Yeah, the previous attending did think that.” He glances back at Summers. “That guy was the best damn doctor that ever set foot in Sacred Heart as well, so I do put a lot of stock in what he thinks.”

Summers clearly had not figured out how massive Perry's ego was, otherwise he would have picked up on that comment and realized how unlikely Perry was to describe anyone other than himself as the best damn doctor in Sacred Heart.

“Yes, but…” Summers gave a slightly sickly smile, clearly feeling he wasn’t quite on solid ground. “I mean, the guy’s judgement was compromised…”

“Hmmyeah, but Felicia here did just point out that he already made that assessment before she fluttered her eyelashes at him.”

“Yes, but just because they said that doesn’t mean it didn’t start earlier.”

“Excellent point, Brent.”

“My name’s actually Brett…”

“Let’s try and clear that up for you, Brent.” Perry had glanced up the corridor and then grinned widely at the sight of Doug, who physically baulked in response. Perry whistled at him. “Hey, Nervous Guy!”

Doug scurried over, looking like the wanted to floor to open up and swallow him. “Yes, Doctor Cox?”

“Can you help Doctor Summers here out? Who was the previous attending before him?”

Doug stares at Perry, then glances at me in confusion.

“Is this a trick question, JD?”

“No, you can’t get help from Teresa, you’ve used up your phone a friend.”

“Um… it was you, Doctor Cox.”

“Yes, excellent, well done. You win five dollars.”

Perry had rounded on Summers, who’d gone the color of curdled milk. “Now, _Brett_ , Pee-Pants here works in the morgue and spends his days chatting with corpses and even _he_ knows this very simple fact. I don’t know who told you that particular juicy bit of gossip but left out the pretty significant detail that _I_ was the previous attending that this little – what did you call him? Oh yeah, effeminate, lanky sodomite. Very biblical by the way, nice turn of phrase. But anyway, that I was who he _seduced_ , which again is a pretty good turn of phrase. Like I somehow didn’t know what was happening and was confused into sex by his doe eyes and total lack of physical coordination.”

He was making it sound like I’d gazed at him rapturously and then fallen over my own feet. I was wayyyyy more suave than that.

Perry had stepped closer to Summers and snarled “You need to carefully consider your position here because if I hear even a rumor that you’re ostracizing my members of staff then you will be ow-how-howt of here quicker than Patricia there mixes an appletini.”

Perry turned on me, still clearly furious. “You. My office. Five minutes.”

He stalked off, followed by Doug.

“What do you want?”

“Um, you said I won five dollars.”

I heard Perry sigh. “Fine…”

“Oh shit,” I said softly.

“Oh shit? _Oh shit?_ You’ve just probably cost me my job and you’re worried that your boyfriend’s going to get a bit rough with you in his office?”

I glared at Summers. “No, you still have a job here and if you lose it then that’s on you. And that was _so_ not his “let’s have angry sex” face, that was his “I’m going to scream at you now” face, which I’m now going to have to see 24/7 until he eventually forgives me for not telling him about you being a massive dick to me.”

“You didn’t go crying to him?”

“No, I’m pretty sure Elliot did.”

I sighed and shuffled along the corridor. “I bet I don’t see his “let’s have angry sex” face now for _ages_ …”

\- - - - -

“JD, what the actual fuck?”

I glanced around the office, which looked relatively intact apart from an entire window pane being smashed. That was probably due to what just happened.

“What?”

“What? _What?!_ ”

“I was dealing with it!”

“No, you were _not_ , you were being a doormat. A doormat that some homophobic piece of shit was kicking the hell out of, why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“… I didn’t want to worry you…”

“You didn’t want to worry me?” He brushed a hand through his hair, staring at me with crazy eyes.

“Yeah, stop repeating everything I say like a psychotic parrot. I thought you’d be upset.”

“And you think that you being miserable and closed off for the last few weeks and then me finding out like that and it raising my blood pressure to something astronomical is somehow less worrying than you calmly telling me about a problem?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“JD, if you are going through some shit then I want to hear it from you. I do not want the _fucking_ Janitor to come see me to say that my new attending called me a miserable bastard in the hall and then casually drop in that he was threatening you about not reporting him because no one would believe you.”

“The… the Janitor told you?”

“Yes, shockingly, he did.”

“I thought Elliot did.”

“Jesus Christ, Newbie, exactly how many people knew about this and you still didn’t come to me?”

I shook my head and walked over to him, trying to hug him. He (very unromantically) put his hand in my face to stop me from getting any closer, which is a very strange way to interact with your significant other. I smooshed my nose against his palm in an attempt to get him to stop; it seemed appropriate to do a really weird thing back at him.

“No. Bad Newbie.”

It’s actually not possible to talk when someone’s holding your face (there’s a lived experience that you don’t want to admit to), so I just huffed a breath out onto his palm. He sighed and released my face.

“Seriously, you are actually going to kill me one day. _Please_ talk to me about this kind of thing, stop… stop dealing with stuff on your own.”

“I don’t always need to run to you-“

“If you’d said I would have let you try to deal with it. And then destroy him when you inevitably failed. But I didn’t know, JD, and I was worried about you.”

He was looking vulnerable and sad. He accepted the hug the second time I tried.

“Sorry,” I murmured into his hair.

“’S’alright.”

“It’s not, I am sorry. I just fixate on trying to deal with stuff myself, I forget I’m not on my own any more sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, maybe this will remind you.”

He pulled back to look at me and I was delighted to see the return of his “let’s have angry sex” face way ahead of it’s expected arrival time.

\- - - - -

In other news, Summers left soon after. Apparently someone on the cleaning staff kept harassing him and he kept finding packages of various bodily fluids in his locker. It would appear that the Janitor will have no competition in making my life miserable.

Arguments:

Wow, that was longer than I expected it to be. But it does lead nicely into the next category; arguments.

I am a laid back guy. I don’t like to argue. I like to think about any differences of opinion that we have and maybe touch on them later.

Or, as Perry says, I run away from fights and refuse to discuss things, before passively-aggressively expecting him to magically understand when I was annoyed and why without actually bringing it up.

Perry is annoying.

So when we have a difference of opinion (i.e. an argument) we don’t deal with it brilliantly, if I’m honest. We're too different in our approaches. We’re a lot better than we were; the first few times we argued Perry got so pissed he kept following me into different rooms to continue the argument until I eventually yelled at him. He rewarded this with a slow clap and then pointed out if I’d yelled at him to begin with then there wouldn’t have been a problem.

Now we have a sort of set pattern when we can see an argument coming (and they totally loom towards us like icebergs, we can always see them on the horizon and start panicking and battening down the hatches or whatever nautical phrase is deployed when you see an iceberg). Perry starts to get stressed and increasingly irritable, whilst I end up sulking because I don’t want to have an argument and just want Perry to agree with me and be sensible. My sulking exacerbates his stress levels and so he becomes irritable, which makes me sulkier, which makes the whole cycle go on until we eventually have a yelling match at each other about whatever the hell it was that was causing a problem.

Then we have sex. The matter is then sorted.

Obviously, the above is only for the real big issues, which aren’t that common. Generally speaking we get along absolutely fine; obviously he spends a lot of time sniping at me regarding pretty much everything, but that’s standard. I occasionally snipe back, having picked up some unfortunate habits from him (I also sporadically growl at people and have noticed occasional “Perryisms” creeping into some of what I say, which is horrifying. He sometimes becomes overly neurotic and sensitive, which he claims is down to me which I disagree with entirely).

Of course, if anyone attempts to intervene with any of this to make us engage with each other “like adults” then we join forces to focus all of the ire on that person so they back the hell off. Although, this does admittedly mainly look like Perry yelling at them whilst I nod next to him or say “yeah” emphatically every so often. This also occurs if anyone insults the other partner; Perry is much more dramatic than me in terms of “destroying” (his words) anyone who makes even a mildly negative comment about me, even if he’s literally been bitching about me to that person. I tend more towards icily ignoring whoever insulted my narcissistic, thoughtless, over-compensating, preening idiot of a boyfriend until they come and beg for forgiveness. They generally do as well; as I am viewed as the “nice one” then me being pissed with someone makes them feel bad doubly; that I’m with such a bastard and tied to him through love and also that they’ve pissed me off by pointing out how plain awful he is.

Perry may have a point about me occasionally being manipulative. It’s not really my fault that people think I’m sweet though, right? I'm just working with my natural attributes.

Generally speaking, though, things work really well. Yeah, Perry rants and bitches and snipes, but I’m quite often daydreaming and not actually paying much attention, so it sort of balances out. We both focus on the other if we know something’s up and we know each other so well that we can kind of switch out of our usual weird habits if we realize there’s something genuinely bothering the other one and do our best to help. Because we love each other.

However, we had one hell of a fight (one of the biggest fights in our relationship ever, period) when I decided to leave Sacred Heart.

Careers:

I’m winning on this whole linking categories together, right? As I mentioned before, Perry was made Chief of Medicine at Sacred Heart a few years ago. Kelso retired or was finally hunted down by the FBI for selling organs for profit or returned to Hell to be with his master or whatever. Perry was offered the job and I encouraged him to take it up, pointing out that he could make a real difference in the hospital. Of course, what I kinda forgot was that it essentially made my boyfriend my _actual_ boss and that everyone knew we were together.

Our dynamic at work had to change, which did make me quite sad. He’d occasionally show up on the ward and insult me, but I didn’t keep running into him all the time since he had boards and meetings and other things that sounded tediously boring. This resulted in less time spent together and also less on call room nookie, since he wasn’t ever technically on call any more. It wasn’t really the same. I could deal with that, since we’d moved in and been living together for some time by this point and I had realized that there was only so much Perry I could take without wanting to push him out a window. You can love someone with all your heart, but being in each others’ company 24/7 would have absolutely resulted in us murdering each other in very imaginative ways. I figure I’d probably survive though, since if I look sad he usually stops being murderous and angry. I could totally deploy sad face and then push him out a window when his guard was down.

However, what really made me think about staying at Sacred Heart was that, of course, Perry was the boss and people all knew we were together. So any career progression would now always look like he was favoring me. This was kinda crushing, to be honest. I loved working at Sacred Heart and Turk and Carla were both doing well there so were unlikely to move. Perry was there and I liked meeting up for lunches and going annoying him in his office when I came off shift. But it felt like career death staying there, or being the “trophy boyfriend” who everyone thought was only getting by because he had a great ass.

I mean, I do, but that’s not relevant.

Also, pretty crappy trophy. I'm the sort of trophy you'd win for placing fourth in a regional spelling bee.

I did try, I tried to stay there, I managed about two years and realized that my feelings weren’t going to change. It would be useless discussing it with Turk, Carla or Perry, all of who would tell me to stay. But Elliot had left whilst I’d been thinking about what to do and so I went and asked her what she thought.

“Oh my God, JD, you should totally leave. I don’t know why it’s taken you so long to figure that out.”

“Is this still about that attending thing? I didn’t really want that Elliot, I know you did and it was a bit shitty of Perry to overlook you like that.”

“Nah. Well, it was shitty of him, but I’d always be “Barbie” to him, you know? And you’ll always be Newbie.”

“You realize that’s his pet name for me, right?”

“Ew. You two are so weird. But you know what I mean, he’s not ever really going to think of you as anything other than a lost little resident or a victim.”

I thought that was a bit unfair. “But-“

“If you go somewhere else then you can start fresh without people all thinking of you as a resident or the boss’ boyfriend. And wouldn’t you like to go somewhere that they don’t all know about… you know, Gourley?”

“But… my friends are at Sacred Heart…”

“Look, I go back frequently, I still see all you guys. If you did the same then you’d still see them all, but you’d actually spend _quality time_ together, not just get stressed with them whilst smelling like vomit. Also, wouldn’t it be healthy for you to be away from Doctor Cox sometimes?”

“We don’t actually see each other at the hospital as much any more.”

“And…?”

I sighed. “And yesterday at dinner I imagined stapling the tablecloth to his face to shut him up.”

“See? Totally unhealthy. Saint Bartholemew’s is actually looking for a new fellow, you could probably finish up there. We could work together again!”

I had grudgingly admitted that this sounded good, considering Barts was around twenty minutes’ drive from Sacred Heart so still in the neighborhood. It was, however, our biggest rival and Perry likely wouldn’t react well to the idea of me going there. He’d been pissed enough when Elliot went and he basically acted like he didn’t even like her most of the time.

“I’ll speak to Doctor Lavine about it,” Elliot promised me. “She’s a great Chief of Medicine JD, you’ll love her.”

\- - - - -

Elliot messaged me later that day to say that Doctor Lavine wanted to meet me. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt like I was having an affair and I hated it. I had to come up with an entire plan of what to do if Perry noticed I’d switched shifts and Elliot picked me up to drive me across in her car. I felt I should hide in the back or something.

“Relax, JD, you’re just talking to someone about a potential job.”

“I feel like I’m cheating on him.”

“He deserves to be cheated on a little, he takes you for granted.”

“That’s what all cheaters say, Elliot!”

\- - - - -

Doctor Lavine immediately told me to call her Patricia, which made me think about Perry again (I know, any girls’ name would have done this to me anyway). She’d asked about my residency and what I’d done for my fellowship so far, what I enjoyed in medicine, what I planned to do and followed this up with some medical questions about how I’d treat various symptoms and what diagnostics I would do. I know I answered it all well, Patricia was looking impressed about half-way through.

“Well, Elliot didn’t undersell you.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“I have to ask though; why are you considering leaving Sacred Heart? It’s a good establishment and it’s getting even better under Perry Cox, however much I’d like to claim it’s a useless dump and not on a par with us here.”

“Oh…” I flinched. “Do you want the real answer or the bullshit interview answer?”

She’d smiled at that. “Real, please, JD. I can’t do with bullshit, I’m too old.”

(She’s around Perry’s age and looks fantastic, to be blunt, but she likes to come out with these sorts of phrases.)

“I’m… in a relationship with someone in management there. I figure that any career progression will look like nepotism. Also, I’m spending too much time with him and might actually stab him soon.”

She looked slightly confused, so I clarified “I’m Perry Cox’s boyfriend.”

“Ah. Yes, I can see why that might cause a conflict of interest for you. Also, kudos for not stabbing him yet.”

“Oh, so you've met him.”

“Yes, we all run into each other at state-wide medical conferences. Very dry stuff, as you can imagine.”

She shuffled her papers and then smiled at me. “Well, apart from poor taste in men-“ (why does _everyone_ say that?) “- you seem perfect. Barring any negative checks, when can you start?”

I stared at her in shock. I hadn’t expected such an immediate and positive response. She saw my expression and smiled.

“We’d be lucky to have you, JD, if you want to transfer.”

I sighed. “Look, that’s really kind of you, but you don’t know the whole story. Did Elliot mention what happened to me a few years ago?”

“No, she just told me about your accomplishments and how much she rated you as a doctor. What happened?”

I flinched and then sighed and rolled up a sleeve to show her my wrist. She leant forward to look closely.

“Burn scars and that looks like a slightly misaligned healed fracture. Is that nerve damage?”

“It's a mix, slight nerve damage, slight PTSD symptoms. I’m nervous, which is making it worse. And you don’t want to see the other arm, believe me.” I bit my lip slightly, unable to read anything from Patricia’s expression. “I had a patient back in Sacred Heart who… wasn’t well. He attacked me and did this and a fair bit more damage. I’ve had a lot of therapy and have mainly healed, but there’s the tremors in my wrists and you should be aware I have severe PTSD, albeit it’s very well managed. Most of it doesn’t get in the way of work, but I do need to get others to do more delicate procedures and… and I’m not quite mentally balanced, if that makes sense? It’s really kind of you to offer me a job, but I can’t take you up on it without you knowing my… limitations.”

She smiled at me then, a smile utterly lacking in pity which I was incredibly relieved about. “JD, I don’t view this as a limitation at all. You’ll have a level of patient understanding that others won’t have. And you’ll have plenty of residents who you can get to do more delicate procedures for you.”

I stared at her again in shock. She saw this as a potential positive, having someone with my shitty experiences?

“Think about it and get back to me. We’d love to have you.”

\- - - - -

Of course, Perry went absolutely ballistic.

“You want to leave?”

We were at home and he was staring at me incredulously.

“I’m just telling you that I’ve had a job offer-“

“You want to leave _me?_ ”

“No, I’m not leaving you!”

He sat down heavily on the couch. “You want to stop working at Sacred Heart?”

I shuffled awkwardly on my feet and then sat down next to him. I think he was thrown because he hadn’t seen this particular iceberg coming. I tentatively put a hand on his arm.

“I’ve had a job offer from Saint Bartholemew’s and yeah, I’m considering it. It’s nothing to do with _us_ though.”

“You are literally looking to work for our biggest competition and it’s nothing to do with us? What the hell is Barbie doing over there, does she get a signing bonus or something?”

“Look, Elliot set me up with an interview because… because I really don’t think I can keep working at Sacred Heart.”

He shot me an angry look and pulled his arm away from my hand. “Why not?”

“Okay, for one thing because any promotion I get now will look like you favoring me.”

“Don’t insult me, you know I only promote those who are best for the job.”

“I said _look like_ , not will be. People will all think it’s because of us.”

“ _Why_ are you so fixated on what other people think?”

“Because I don’t want people to think that! Of either of us!”

“Is this because of the attending thing? I swear, JD, I’ll put you in that position as soon as-“

“No, it’s not.”

He looked lost. “So, you’re planning on spending all day away from me because of what some morons _might_ think.”

“No… look, also, don’t you think we spend too much time together?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, Perry, you literally told me yesterday that I am the most annoying bastard in the world and any more time spent with me would permanently destroy any brain cells that the scotch had spared.”

“I was joking.”

“This was also at the same time that I began imagining whether you would learn ASL to constantly berate me if I went deaf. Which was triggered by my wishing I was deaf so I didn’t have to listen to you all the time.”

“I would do that.”

“I know you would. But we will actually murder each other soon.”

He’d given me an incredibly forlorn look before quietly saying “But I love you.”

“I know. I love you too. But I can’t spend all my time with _anyone_ and not find it too much sometimes.”

“That’s not how you feel about Gandhi.”

“Don’t even go there, Perry.”

“Sorry, upset that Carla got to marry him first?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Stop it.”

He slumped onto the couch and frowned at me. “You realize that I get anxious when I don’t know where you are?”

“Yes, I know. But you’d know where I was.”

“I wouldn’t be able to check.”

I sighed. “Really? You really need to be able to check? Elliot could send you photos or something. “JD by the water machine”, “JD getting puked on”, you’d love it.”

He gave me a dark look. “Are you regretting not being with her?”

“ _What?_ ”

“You’ll be spending time together, what have you been missing her? Going finding her in the supply closets crying and comforting her-“

“Shut up, Perry. It’s not cutsey when you get jealous, it’s insane. I love _you_ , I want to be with _you_. If it puts your mind at rest, Elliot’s got a boyfriend that she seems pretty serious about. And she’s not cried in a closet for years, she’s the attending at Bart’s, not a scared little resident any more.”

I remembered what Elliot had said as Perry only ever seeing her as “Barbie”. Maybe she had a point.

“Seriously, if I still wanted to be with her do you think I’d be offering to get her to send photos to you?”

“… No…”

“Exactly, no.” I sighed again and looked at him, deciding to pull out the big guns. “Honestly, Perry, what do you think the first thing that people at Sacred Heart think when they think of me? That I’m a good doctor? That I’m your boyfriend? Or that I got abducted and raped by a patient? I want them to think the first thing and I’m happy about the second, but don’t want that to be what defines me to everyone. And I hate that people think the third and they _do_ , Perry, I know they do.”

“Yes, and those people can understand and help-“

“No they _can’t_. People can’t really understand, I think you understand because you basically came to hell with me and dragged me back out, but they can’t. And yeah, they can help and yeah, I can be kept away from abuse victims and patients with severe mental health problems – I know you do that, by the way – but that doesn’t stop what happened to me having happened.”

We both stared at each other, at a loss. He didn’t understand why I cared so much what other people thought. And I couldn’t understand how he couldn’t see that this was slowly crushing me. That I still wanted to be with him, obviously, _desperately_. It wasn’t him at all.

“I need to think about this,” he said quietly. I nodded.

“Look… I’m telling you because I’ve not accepted. If you really hate this then I won’t. But… I honestly think this would help me. Help us. It’s not that I want to leave you, I love you, I’m heart-broken at the idea of it in a way because Sacred Heart seems so tied up in… in _us_. I just… I think I should do this…”

He nodded and gently kissed me before going into the spare room and shutting the door.

“What, no make up sex?” I yelled after him.

“No, Sharon, we’ve not made up yet.”

“No angry sex?”

“No.”

“You’re not even going to cuddle me?”

“No, Ruby. As I said, I’m trying to think about this and you make it slightly difficult to do that when you’re squirming around next to me and inevitably start to hump my leg in the hope it will get me in the mood. Go to sleep.”

I walked over to the closed door and called through it to him.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Are you sure that you don’t want to-“

He opened the door, kissed me hard and then growled “go to bed _now_ ” in my ear before resolutely slamming the door in my face.

“Frigid,” I grumbled.

\- - - - -

The next morning he cornered me whilst I was making pancakes for us all.

“You come to Sacred Heart for lunch twice a week.”

I glanced back at him. “What if I’m working nights?”

“Then… then you message me. A lot. Alright? And you get Barbie to send those goddamn photos.”

I started to grin. “So… you’ll let me?”

“I don’t need to let you, JD, I’m your partner, not your parent. However much of a daddy kink you might have going on. But… yeah, I guess what you said last night makes sense. I have possibly been seeing too much of you, which is why I had that little hissy fit last night. You rub off on me.”

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and I leaned back and purred against him. “You didn’t let me rub off on you.”

“How charming you are. Remind me why I seem to want to spend more time with you?”

He kissed my neck and I felt goosebumps and shivered. He sighed, apparently feeling my reaction.

“You – are – such – a – horny – little – bastard.” He growled, punctuating each word with a kiss and then delicately licked up my throat after.

“Stop iiiiit, cooking and… company…”

“Not at the minute, the company’s still in bed.”

I frowned. “Then go wake up the company, he needs to go to school soon.”

Perry huffed and then backed off. “Also, speak with Patty Levine. I want to be able to come see you there and not be accused of… I don’t know, medical espionage or something. I want carte blanche to drop by and physically be able to see you.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Look, when I’ve had a bad day I sometimes just need to see you’re… you know, around. Not in a basement somewhere.”

He looked vulnerable and slightly sad and I nodded back. “Okay.”

\- - - - -

Patricia was delighted when I told her I could start a month from then. She was also intrigued by my list of Perry workarounds.

“That’s… unusual.”

“I know. I possibly humor him too much.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. I will repeatedly point out to him when he visits every way in which this hospital is superior to his.”

“He may well agree.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. After what you told me last time I did realize that there was something here you may be interested in. We have a specialist abuse unit here; we treat a lot of patients that other hospitals don’t have the expertise to deal with.”

I frowned. “Do you want me to-“

“I’m not suggesting you get involved. You should focus on your fellowship and complete it, but when you’re done I didn’t know if you wanted to get into that sort of work.”

“I’ve not even treated a trauma victim in… five years? The last time it didn’t go so great.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, JD. I’m just letting you know it’s there. You can avoid it, which is what it sounds like you’ve been doing up until now and that seems to be working. But if you want to ever be involved, just let me know.”

\- - - - -

Of course, after a year (and Perry totally did keep dropping by, apparently Elliot’s blurry photos of me writing notes and looking stressed weren’t sufficient) I approached Patricia again and asked her if I could get involved with the unit. A rather pleasant surprise immediately after this was that Craig was the attendant psychiatric consult and so I immediately felt I had a safety net. I had stopped seeing him around two years previously, both he and I feeling that I had as much control over the PTSD symptoms as I could realistically achieve.

“JD! How are you?”

He hugged me, which felt slightly weird from my former therapist.

“I’m good, how’re you?”

“Fine, fine. Doctor Cox alright?”

“Yeah, he’s good.”

“I thought I saw him the other month, actually, does he come and see you here?”

“Yeah, he’s still being – what did you say? Over-bearing and over-protective.”

“Patricia told me you were coming on board. How’re you feeling?”

“Nervous. Do you think this is a bad idea?”

He shrugged. “No. I think it’s a great idea, if I’m honest. So many of the physicians here just don’t get what their patients have suffered, you’ll have a totally different outlook. I triage the patients in terms of their mental state and we’ll start with you focused on the less severe cases and work on it gradually, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

\- - - - -

Perry, of course, went utterly ballistic. If I thought the other argument was bad, then… geez.

“Why the hell are you doing something so destructive, you complete and utter moron?”

As you can imagine, make up sex did not happen for some time…

\- - - - -

Despite Perry’s misgivings, I actually found the work incredibly rewarding. Yeah, occasionally a case would get to me and I’d usually end up having a sort of off the cuff therapy session with Craig to focus back, but generally I think it was exactly what I needed. The last vestiges of “victimhood” were wiped away when I could take such a proactive step and move forward. I’d sometimes tell my patients an (very redacted) account of what happened to me and was always surprised that they responded well to this, that their apparently confident, in control doctor had experienced something similar and could help.

Sometimes the cases would trigger bad memories and I’d sometimes wake up terrified in bed after, blinking away hangovers of Steve and the basement. Surprisingly, Perry would be comforting rather than flatly telling me that I brought it on myself. I think he’s actually pretty proud of what I’m doing, although doesn’t really admit it. We were at some dinner the other night (sadly I am always his plus one, despite my various protestations that these conservative places are not ready for a same sex plus one, which are mainly a mask for how boring and intimidating I find them) and I heard him telling one of the other guests that his partner ran the abuse unit at Saint Bartholemew’s (also, yeah I do, I got promoted). He sounded so incredibly proud that I became slightly emotional and snuck up behind him.

“I am _so_ going to screw you when we get home.” (I am very romantic)

“Hello Gertie. Do keep your voice down, that’s the mayor over there. Your boss is somewhere around here too.”

“I heard what you were saying earlier, about me running the unit. That was sweet of you.”

“Well, I could hardly say that my partner wanders around daydreaming and thinking about cotton candy most of the time, could I? I had to say something.”

Mm, cotton candy.

He gave me a slightly disgusted look, told me not to be too embarrassing and continued “networking”. I totally screwed him when we got home.

\- - - - -

Family:

Oh, I couldn’t link that. Damn, I was doing so well. I need to stop talking about sex, there’s no healthy way to link sex to the subject of family.

Apart from it’s how you can make one? I guess? Need ova involved though, Perry and I have no ova. Shit-loads of sperm, no ova. I think I’m a bit broody right now?

Anyway, family is a pretty important section to consider. The main part of my family (Turk, Carla, Elliot and Dan) are already covered, but I’ve not really mentioned Perry’s. _That_ was a whole can of worms. So let’s deal with the surprisingly easy part:

My Mom loves Perry.

Like, she absolutely adores him.

About a year in and after some (okay, a lot of) pressure from Perry I told her that I was dating Peri.

Perry was utterly unimpressed and I had to immediately call back and explain that Peri was a guy and that I was sorry for being a shitty lying little weasel.

About two months after that I went to see her with Perry. I was expecting histrionics and anger and Dan laughing in the corner so hard that he peed himself. What actually happened was that Perry switched on his charm and my Mom completely fell for it, despite how much Dan had likely told her in advance that Perry was a dick.

Like, I think if we broke up she’d try and date him, she loves him that much.

I actually asked her recently why exactly she likes him so much, when she’s basically hated every girl I’ve ever dated. She told me that he was charming, well-off, intelligent and clearly adored me. Why wouldn’t she love that? Also, he was a doctor and the only thing better than having a doctor as a son was having one spare as a son in law.

“No woman would ever be good enough for you, but he is.”

I mean, that’s not disturbing at all, right?

\- - - - -

Perry's sister wasn't very impressed, by the way. She called us an abomination and when Perry asked why she told him that him being with a man was unnatural. He replied that I was a girl and Jordan was more of a man than me, so why hadn't she had a problem with that?

She didn't speak to us for about a year and then decided to reach out to us in "Christian kindness". Perry had scoffed, but I think it made him happy that she was talking to him again, albeit she occasionally still reads Bible passages to him half-heartedly.

\- - - - - 

Okay, so that was the easy part. The harder/scarier part was Jordan.

After my panicked night-time realization Perry had to quickly break the news to Jordan that we were seeing each other before some board member did. We didn’t want to be responsible for the gruesome death of some board member.

I heard him doing it on his cell. He’d put it on speakerphone and made me sit silently and listen as “I shouldn’t be the only one to suffer about this, Newbie”.

Jordan was silent after Perry initially told her that we were an item.

“Jordan? How you holding up?”

“I’m mainly trying to keep the laughter in that you think this is a surprise, Per.”

He frowned. “You knew? Did someone tell you?”

“No, I mean Sally’s practically been presenting for you ever since she _met_ you. I guess I’m slightly surprised that you gave in to her whining, but I guess you did always enjoy-“

“I didn’t give in, Jordan, this was a mutual thing.”

Pretty sure he just interrupted her making a pegging comment. I was hoping she’d say something awkward so he’d take it off speaker and never subject me to this sort of shitty thing again.

“Really? DJ didn’t come crying to you about his terrible ordeal and-“

“And no, seriously Jordan, don’t even go there. If you must know, I got drunk and hit on him. Pretty sure nothing would have happened if I hadn’t.”

I frowned at him, but it was probably true.

“So… I guess this means our arrangement is off if you’re batting for the other team now?”

“I mean, our arrangement is off because I’m in a committed relationship.”

“Yeah, you know I pay no attention to that. I do pay attention to sexual preference though.”

Perry looked confused. “You’re taking this… remarkably well.”

“Of course. It absolutely saves me face. My marriage broke down because my husband was gay and I don’t need to try to compete with some other woman.”

Perry growled.

“Oh, I know you think Sally is a top girl, but-“

“Stop it, Jordan.”

“Seriously, Perry, it’s fine by me. Makes the pool boys I’ve been hooking up with totally validated and I don’t at all feel guilty.”

\- - - - -

I have to admit that I did quite frequently hide from Jordan, but she did eventually catch me and threaten to cut off my “lady balls” if I hurt Perry. I squeaked that I had no plans on doing that and my balls were very manly, thank you very much. She smirked and sashayed off.

Jordan will occasionally crop up and torment/horrify me. I think she does this because she thinks it’s funny though, rather than any malign feelings about Perry and me. Which makes her a terrible person, but not a vindictive one. She has ended up being quite pally with Perry, commenting that they’ve both been in the sack with me and so should compare notes.

I’m pretty sure she once requested a threesome with Perry, judging on how traumatized he looked after one chat with her. He told me to never, ever ask what she’d asked for as my little mind would be too damaged.

We do have to see Jordan quite a lot though. This is not through choice, although as I mentioned, Perry and her have a nice passive-aggressive friendship vibe going on.

It’s because of Jack.

A couple of years into dating, Perry told me that he was going to apply for custody of Jack. I’d looked at him in surprise.

“Won’t Jordan be pissed about that?”

“No, surprisingly Newbie, she wants me to.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand. He’s lived with her and visited at weekends up until now and he’s nearly eight. Why the change?”

Perry sighed. “I think she’s having difficulty coping. She’s a good Mom, she cares, but she… can’t always show it. She’s been given a lot of travel opportunities managing the assets from her father’s company and she’s considering doing that. She wants Jack to be somewhere more stable.”

“Can’t she just tell the court that?”

“Yeah, but I need to apply as well. Him being born after we were divorced makes it a bit more complicated.”

“What about Jack? Is he going to understand about his Mom not being around much?”

“She’ll see him pretty frequently. Which means we'd see her pretty frequently too."

“Oh. Okay.”

Perry stroked my hair back from my forehead and looked into my eyes.

“You okay with this?”

I scoffed. “I’m hardly going to stop you having a relationship with your son.”

“I know, but this could have a huge impact on you. Do you want me to say no or-“

“No. You should do it. If you get custody we’ll figure it out.”

Of course, Perry got custody and I immediately started to panic that I would be a terrible parent and should not be allowed any responsibility over another human. Particularly a little one, they’re easiest to damage.

What I didn’t expect was how much I’d love Jack. He’s way too much like his Dad and absolutely a horror when he wants to be, but is also rather sweet and loving. Just like his Dad.

We’ve had some pretty awkward moments though. I got called into his school with Perry once because he’d been calling all the kids “Newbie” and when asked why seemed to think this was a term of endearment. He also apparently once described his “step mother” in great detail to his home room teacher, who then nearly had me arrested when I picked him up from school. I had to very painstakingly explain to her that I was actually “Denise” and my partner was just rather odd.

She gave me a domestic abuse leaflet and said to call her if I needed help.

We eventually managed to explain to Jack that he really shouldn’t emulate what we did at home because… well, because we were weird and he shouldn’t copy that. He seemed to get it and it got easier once he went to high school. I then became fixated on him being bullied for having “two Dads”.

“Once again, Monique, this is the twenty-first century. There’s loads of same-sex couple raising kids, particularly in California” Perry had pointed out. I had ignored him.

“Jack, do any of the kids at school… I don’t know, bully you because of your home life?”

Jack had stared at me, puzzled. “What?”

“Well, you know… the whole two dad thing?”

He scoffed. “Pff. Nah. We bully the ones with only one of each, they’re lame.”

I had skulked back to bed and admitted to Perry that the child we were bringing up together apparently bullied “straights”. Perry had been hugely amused by this.

\- - - - -

To be honest, it’s hard to summarize my relationship with Jack in this. I’ve been helping raise him for seven years and I’m who he used to come to when he fell off his bike or skinned his knee. He’s not my son biologically, but I feel like in every other way he is. I love him.

Accommodation:

Where does love live? In a house!

Okay, that was a terrible segue. I’ll stop trying.

Obviously, initially there were two properties; Perry’s apartment and my house. After about a year Perry moved his rather sparse personal affects into my place and moved in, since we were basically living together by that point anyway. He rented his apartment out and we cohabited quite happily, since there was loads of space and so could go into other rooms and ignore one another if we became too annoyed. The spare room became technically Perry’s room, which he barely ever slept in.

That was because of me, if I’m honest. When we discussed living together initially I started to have a panic attack. Perry thought I was making a stupid joke to begin with, then rapidly realized I wasn’t and had to calm me down.

“What the hell, Newbie?” he demanded as I breathed into a paper takeaway bag and tried to figure out when we’d last had prawn crackers, since the thing reeked of them.

“Sorry,” I responded, huffing out prawny air.

“Well, what? You changing your mind about this thing or-“

“No,” I panted, pulling my face out the bag. He shoved me back into it for a minute as he checked my pulse was slowing down and then let me resurface from the shrimpy bag.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just had his partner’s face shoved into a food container for the last minute.

“Look… sorry, I just freaked out a bit. You know, the whole personal space thing?”

“I’m in your personal space all the time. You don’t get stressed.”

“Yeah, because it’s not permanent. There’s something about knowing that I can tell you to leave…”

“It’s a control thing, right? Controlling your environment?”

I glanced at him in surprise. “Yeah.”

He seemed to think for a minute. “Okay, so what if we say the spare room is my space?”

I frowned. “Is this you trying to get out of snuggling?”

“No, I’m not proposing to actually sleep there, just have it as an option.”

“Then what’s my space?”

“Everywhere else.”

I gawked at him. “Really? You’d… you’d be okay with that?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, if it’s what makes you feel comfortable. I’m not checking your permission for being in the space, don’t get me wrong, that’d by su-huch a nightmare, but you can know that if you ask me to I’ll leave.”

I stared at him. “Oh my God, you’re amazing.”

“I know.”

\- - - - -

I then had another panic attack when Perry won custody of Jack, since there wasn’t enough room for us all at my old place. Perry sold his apartment and then asked if I wanted a buy a new place together. I stared at him in horror.

“But this is home.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I know Philippa, but it’s not big enough.”

“Jack can live outside, kids don’t get enough fresh air.”

“Newbie…”

“He can come inside when it rains.”

“Newbie…”

“Fine, he can live in the spare room, in your room, I can cope, I don’t need you to stay out of my space, I love you being in my space, it’s not at all like you’re a massive guy whose ego takes up an entire room and the idea of having no control over my own space doesn’t _at all_ make me want to start screaming until my eyes bleed-“

“It’s not big enough here Newbie, even if he is in the spare room.”

I stared at him. “But… I like it here.”

“I know, JD.”

I’m embarrassed to admit I got slightly tearful when I realized the next part.

“But… the meadow.”

Perry pulled me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “I know, I’m sorry sweetheart.”

“We could build an extension…?”

“The only place to build it would be on the meadow.”

I whined softly. He pulled me tighter against him and told me again how sorry he was. He was happy to buy a new place himself, but he wanted me to have the option to buy it with him, otherwise I wouldn’t feel it was my space.

I eventually calmed down and agreed that yes, I’d sell my place and we’d buy something together. Trying to reassure me, Perry highlighted that we’d have the same rules in the new place; his room as the spare room and Jack’s room as Jack’s. The rest of the space was mine.

I’m well aware how weird this sounds, but it genuinely does help me.

We actually were able to buy a pretty big place, so I swapped having the entire house as mine and claimed various rooms, with the added plus that I could actually keep people out of these with some degree of validity. Perry claimed my ridiculous territorialness was yet more proof that I was a human cat and so I banned him from the basement for two weeks. I also once saw the inside of Jack’s room and assured Perry that I had no desire to claim that mess of gym kit and old pizza as my own space.

I do actually love the house. It’s modern, spacious, stylish, etc. rather like the old one. It’s got a standard “couples with kids” thing of a baseball hoop outside that Turk inevitably uses whenever visiting. There’s a double-garage so the Aprilia and the Porsche can hang out together. The basement is actually awesome, I turned it into a wine cellar slash man cave. Perry thinks it’s adorable that I consider myself man enough to have a cave. The man cave has video games, beer and a cocktail bar in it though, so Perry’s just jealous that he has to request permission to come in.

It was slightly weird that I kept the basement as my own space, considering what happened in Steve's basement. I did install a ridiculous amount of lighting (both standard and fairy variety), likely based on some subconscious fear of the basement reminding me of Steve's, but it genuinely doesn't cause any issues. It's cosy and awesome and, like, the best place in the whole house.

There’s also standard living room, kitchen, blah blah. All very modern and chic and with things like “islands” in, which are apparently all the rage but I keep walking into the island when I’m not paying attention.

We also have my (our) room (with an en suite so we don't need to share any space with teenage boy smells), Perry’s room (used to store weights mainly), Jack’s room and a guest room so I can even throw Perry out when we have guests if I want to. We also set up a joint office space downstairs which we work and annoy one other in. Jack occasionally comes into it to do his homework and take masterclasses in being annoying.

My favorite thing in the new place is something Perry did for me (even more favorite than the basement). He’d been sneaking around doing something and then Turk and Carla mysteriously invited me over one night without him. I pretended to be fooled and then immediately demanded to know what the hell was going on when I got there.

“Nothing, Vanilla Bear. Just… you know, a nice surprise.”

“Perry doesn’t do nice surprises. Just horrible ones.”

“No, seriously-“

“I am being serious.”

Turk eventually got me to calm down by making me drink so much I passed out. The next day I came home with a hangover and a sense of dread. Perry met me at the door, beaming. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“What’ve you done?”

He rolled his eyes. “So suspicious, Maria. Come here.”

I shuffled over to him and he sighed and covered my eyes. I yelped at him and he told me off and to just come along with him.

“Honestly, Sheila, you make it so hard to do nice things for when you’re like this.”

“Ow, I think I just walked into the island again.”

“Good, you’re an ungrateful little wretch. Look at what I’ve done for you.”

He uncovered my eyes with a flourish and I genuinely did a double take, thinking he’d somehow managed to transport me about five miles in ten seconds.

“Is… is that the meadow?”

“Yeah.”

“In our garden?”

“Yeah.”

He put a hand on my shoulder as I gazed at it.

“Did you _plant_ a new one?”

“No Anna, I can’t magically make flowers grow like that in one day. I asked the owners of your old place if I could take it away. They were surprisingly understanding when I told them how important it was to you.”

“You got it dug up and replanted here?”

“Yeah.”

I stare at it for a moment longer. “I love you. So much.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“Let’s have sex in it.”

“That’s why I love you.”

\- - - - -

By the way, the new house came with a white picket fence. I smashed it to pieces and set fire to it in a slightly animalistic bonfire that made the neighbors think that we were cultists for a while.

In conclusion…

So, that’s my slightly rambling summary of the last nine years. Because all life developments can essentially be categorized as nicknames, sex, technology, telling people, arguments, careers, family and accommodation. I’m not weird for thinking this way, despite what Perry tells me.

Incidentally, we’ve been gloriously, insanely, ridiculously happy. Even Perry admits that.


	25. 25. My Surprise

“You will not _believe_ what happened this morning.”

“Mm-hm.”

Carla doesn’t even look up from her paperwork. I narrow my eyes at her slightly.

“Sorry, am I somehow less interesting than an overnight nurse rota for the weekend?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“ _Really?_ I mean, I’m potentially going to tell you something you can gossip with all your little friends about. Surely that’s worth something?”

“No. You’re just gonna bitch about JD. As usual.”

“I don’t bitch about him.”

“Yeah, you do. You bitch about him and argue with him. Then get homicidal if anyone ever criticizes him.”

She’s still not looked up from her paperwork. I know she’s in charge of the nurses now, but… that’s _boring_. I frown.

“I was actually gonna bitch about Jack.”

She _finally_ looks up. “About Jack?”

“Yeah, but I have to bitch about JD before I bitch about Jack.”

It’s not actually bitching about him anyhow. I came down after my morning shower to find him wearing what I can only describe as mop shoes, dancing around to Adam Lambert’s “Strut” whilst cleaning the floor with them. My son had been looking on from the kitchen bar, eating some sugary cereal shit that JD insists on buying for him, with an odd expression; a combination of amusement, fondness and mortification.

I’d turned the music off, JD apparently not noticing for a few bars and continuing to flail and dance singing along “ _get on the floor, just let it drop, don’t it feel good, don’t it feel hot_ -“ before stopping and frowning at me.

“Spoilsport.”

“What the actual hell are you doing, Veronica?”

“I was cleaning the floor.” He pointed at the mop shoes, then at the floor.

“We have a cleaner. Who is coming in a half hour.”

“Yeah, so I have to pre-clean.”

“No, you _don’t_. That’s _why_ we hired a cleaner.”

Actually, we (or rather, I) hired a cleaner in the hope it would curb some of JD’s more obsessive cleaning fixations. It had taken us a while to actually identify this as one of his PTSD coping mechanisms, I’d assumed it was just yet another one of his idiosyncrasies. Until about five years ago when I’d calmly pointed out (okay, maybe yelled at him) that he really didn’t need to wear different pyjamas every night and for God’s sake stop filling the laundry basket with onesies and logo T shirts. He’d looked at me blankly and then asked if that was weird, before a despairing look ran over his face when he’d realized that this was a behavioral change. Then bleakly said that when he was having some difficulties coping he tended to clean a lot and he hadn’t even noticed that he never rewore clothes without washing them.

So, of course, I’d hired a cleaner to try to alleviate this as much as possible. The laundry basket is still full of goddamn onesies as well, but I don’t care.

But, naturally, he’s him, so he tries to clean before she arrives so she “doesn’t think we’re pigs”, something he calls "pre-cleaning" and I genuinely have no idea why he does it.

“I get hiding your copies of _Cosmo_ and your hope chest, Daphne, but why mop? What do you expect her to do when she gets here, wave a feather duster over everything and watch cable?”

“I only get it for the articles.”

“Sure, Penelope. Incidentally, I think that little performance was the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He was still wearing the ridiculous mop shoes and frowned before squelching over to me. “Don’t use homophobic language in front of Jack.”

“That isn’t homophobic. Anyway, _how_ can I use homophobic language exactly, Nancy? I’m in a relationship with another man – if I can be generous and describe you that way. I can’t _be_ homophobic, so pray explain.”

He rolled his eyes. “You manage it somehow, Perry.”

I leant over and kissed his forehead. “Stop being a lunatic and go get ready. I need to give you a lift, right?”

“Yes please.”

“Go on.”

He’d scrambled off and I’d turned to Jack, rolling my eyes. I’d expected an answering eyeroll, a usual exchange between the two of us when we mocked JD, but he’d smirked at me in response and I’d frowned.

“What?”

His smirk had almost developed into a leer, something genuinely unnerving on a teenage boy.

“You.”

“Monosyllabic as usual, son? Going to grunt next?”

He’s not actually a grumbling Neanderthal, I think we’ve done a pretty good job with him, but he was being weird and it was annoying me.

“No. Just you’re funny.”

“How am I funny?”

I’d pulled some granola out the refrigerator and glanced back at him. He was still wearing that odd smug expression and looked disturbingly like me.

“You act so macho and cool with him, but whenever he’s not looking you look at him like… well, like…” he’d shrugged and made a ridiculously soppy expression at me.

“No I don’t.”

“You so do.”

“No I _don’t_ , stop being disgusting.”

He’d rolled his eyes then. “How is thinking my parents love each other disgusting?”

“Oh God, stop that. You’re not allowed to watch movies with your _Mom_ anymore.”

“You realize he actually is more like a Mom to me than my real Mom, yeah?”

That had slightly floored me. Of course I knew that, I just didn’t think Jack appreciated it. He generally teases JD relentlessly, something he’s likely picked up from me (and likely why he referred to JD as a Mom when in reality he’s essentially an all-round parent, I’m not exactly the best at the Dad stuff sometimes).

“Whatever. Go get your bag, you have football practice tonight, right?”

Jack had jumped down from the table, made the ridiculously soppy expression at me again, and then sloped off to find his football kit. I heard him crashing around upstairs for some time, loudly lamenting being unable to find things until JD came to help him (as Jack knew he would). He’s a manipulative little bastard and a total chip off the old block.

I give a highlighted version to Carla, who frowns at me. “So, what am I supposed to be surprised by?”

I make the same expression at Carla as Jack made at me. “I don’t look like _this_.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You look at JD like that whenever he’s being… JD-ish. It’s the same expression most people would make when they see a puppy.”

I open my mouth to argue and she cuts me off.

“Don’t bother, Perry. It kinda makes up for all your bitching and moaning, it’s funny.”

She looks back down at the paperwork.

“But-“

“Oh, can you _stop_? Please? I need to sort out the rota for my nurses and make sure I have a good blend of specialist requirements, support and just common sense on the ward whilst we’re away. It was hard to get administrative sign off on all of us being away at once and I really could do without a preview of what this weekend is going to be like.”

“You’re away at the request of the Chief of Medicine. You’ve not mentioned anything, right? You or your bowling ball headed-“

“ _No,_ Turk and I have not mentioned anything. Nor has Elliot. And we’ve got a babysitter arranged for the girls and I’m _really_ looking forward to seeing my husband making that expression at JD too whilst I sit around and work out exactly how fat my ass has gotten whilst they plot about whatever the hell it is they’re currently planning in Turk’s shed.”

I nearly reply to say I hadn’t noticed it getting that fat, but I’m not suicidal. “Um. I… er…”

She looks up and at her expression I beat a hasty retreat and go do my actual job.

\- - - - -

“Well, _hello_ Doctor Dorian. Not used to seeing you like that without your leather.”

I roll my eyes at James, one of the nurses at Saint Bartholomew’s. He’s an absolute stereotype, a flamboyantly gay male nurse. And he enthusiastically enjoys living up to that label. He’s also weirdly obsessed with Perry, mainly because Perry didn’t set off his “gaydar” and he’s been on a mission ever since to investigate. Apparently I immediately did, and my annoyed rant about being bi not gay made me sound a. overly defensive and b. horribly like Perry, so I stopped pretty quickly.

He’s also probably my favorite person here, apart from Elliot.

I lean against the nurse’s station, feeling slightly weird in my casual clothes on the ward.

“You know my motorcycle was destroyed.”

I honestly thought Turk was joking when he told me five years ago that the Janitor had left Sacred Heart just a week after I left. Ever since things have occasionally gone horribly wrong for me and I’m pretty sure he’s following me. I’m almost certain I saw the arm of his gray uniform leaning out of the driver’s cab as the lorry crashed into my parked Aprilia.

I’m sure he’ll crop up again soon. I’m not actually sure whether I’m looking forward to what he comes up with next or am dreading it.

“Destroyed? You make it sound like it exploded.”

I frown in reminiscence. “It kinda did.” It was heart-breaking.

“Oh, watch out. Your fan club’s coming.”

I glance behind me to see one of the newest residents, Jessica, approaching. She’s flicking her hair and pouting slightly. I look back at James, who’s smirking.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s –what, 28? She’s just friendly, she doesn’t want _this_.”

I point at my slightly graying temples, lifting my eyebrows. James leans further across the desk and gives me a dreamy look.

“Silver fox, darling.”

"You're telling me, this shit's in my stubble if I let it grow..."

“Doctor Dorian?”

I look back at Jessica, who’s posing prettily and biting her lip. I frown slightly, trying to figure out if she is deliberately trying to look sexy or whether that’s just James being slightly poisonous and it's affecting my judgement.

“Hi Jessica. How’re you doing? And I told you guys you should all call me JD.”

“I’m good, thanks, _JD_. And I heard you didn’t have a ride. I wondered if you wanted a lift anywhere?”

I can positively _feel_ James smirking behind me now, which I ignore.

“Oh. That’s really kind, Jessica, but I’ve organized something already.”

“Yes, when is Doctor Cox arriving?” James interjects. James always calls him Perry, mainly because he knows it annoys him. He’s being deliberately gender-neutral and I can’t decide if this is cruel or not. Although I guess Perry could be viewed as a gender-neutral name too. So could JD, actually, it's like we're intentionally trying to confuse everyone.

Jessica looks between me and James. “Doctor Cox?”

“JD’s partner. Doctor Cox is the chief of medicine at Sacred Heart, right JD? They met when JD was a resident there, Doctor Cox was his attending.”

“Oh! That's... that's nice...”

I’m glaring at James and so can’t see Jessica currently, but can hear she’s slightly surprised. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my private life or anything, I just don’t tend to go around talking about it all the time – particularly not in front of the residents, who don’t need gossipy distractions. Also, I've learnt from the shit that happened with Summers, even if someone seems perfectly reasonable you never can tell whether they're an enormous bigot. James catches my eye and grins at me.

“Oh, yeah. JD’s a bit of a toyboy.”

I turn back to Jessica and am slightly taken aback that she’s smiling. See, I listened to James’ shit and clearly she isn’t upset. I have to ignore him more, he talks out of his ass all the time.

“So, yeah, I have a ride. But thanks for offering, Jessica, that’s very thoughtful.”

“Oh, look, it’s Doctor Cox. Hi Perry!”

I glance over in time to see Perry give James a withering look and then frown slightly at Jessica.

“No need to announce me, Freddie Mercury.”

“Oh, but there _was_.”

Jessica is staring between me and Perry wide-eyed, before hurriedly excusing herself and scurrying off. Perry watches her over my shoulder.

“Who was the Megan Fox lookalike?”

“One of the residents. She sometimes does some treatments in the unit. James, that was cruel.”

“It was earned, darling. You should have seen her face when she thought you were with an older woman, couldn’t wait to get her talons in. Little hussy.”

“You know, the bitchy gay stereotype is kinda old.” I point out to him.

“I can’t help what I am. Speaking of which, are you guys coming to Pride?”

Perry gives him one of his "Patented Perry Looks".

James shrugs. “What? JD came along last year.”

“JD went with you because JD will use any excuse to have his face painted.”

It was wonderful. I was a unicorn.

“Are you ready, Stephanie? We have to pack and make sure Jack hasn’t organized a party.”

“Oh, yes, you guys are going on a little minibreak, right?” James interjects cheerfully.

“Yes, it’s…sort of an anniversary. I’ll be out until Tuesday.” I tell him. I can’t believe it’s ten years. Ten years since… God…

“Oh. Have a great time then.”

I give James a quick wave and then trail along behind Perry, watching James continue to gaze at Perry thoughtfully, like he’s a particularly complex Rubik’s Cube.

_Click, click, click, click-_

_“I swear to God, Newbie, if you don’t line my pecs back up perfectly I’ll build them back up by kicking you around the house.”_

“Come _on_ , Delilah.”

“Sorry.”

\- - - - -

I gaze out of the window of the Dodge Viper (Perry’s replacement for the Porsche was somehow even more of a mid-life crisis car) before glancing back at him. He’s looking oddly foreboding.

“What’s up?”

“Was Elton John trying to antagonize that girl because she has the hots for you?”

“ _No_. He was being stupid.”

“Was he, Newbie?”

I roll my eyes. “ _Yes_. He was. She’s just friendly.”

“Friendly my ass.”

I smile. “Your ass can be kinda friendly.”

“Stop being cutesy, it makes it harder to be pissed with you.”

“Makes it harder, huh?”

“Stop being lecherous, as well. You won’t distract me with Dodge sex. Again.”

We totally did. It was kinda uncomfortable, actually, there’s not much space in these sports cars.

“Why are you pissed with me? Even if she did have the hots for me, that’s not my fault.”

“Yes, you going around being all wide-eyed and dreaming of rainbows doesn’t help build on that.”

“Sorry, I’ll call everyone offensive nicknames and act like I’m an iceberg, shall I?”

“Yeah, that’d be peaches.”

I roll my eyes. “Do we need to pick up Jack? I can get into the back.”

“No, he’s getting a lift back with one of his friends. Also, stop being a massive pushover and giving him the front seat. It’s no wonder he tries to bully you into doing his biology homework for him. I’m half expecting you to give your lunch money to him.”

“Which friend?”

“The one with the stupid nickname.”

“They _all_ have stupid nicknames. You realize what his is? With a surname like Cox?”

“Alright, Newbie. The one with the food-based stupid nickname, I can’t remember what it is. Keith. Whatever Keith the fullback’s nickname is.”

“He’s Eggsy.”

“Eggsy?”

“He ate an egg sandwich once.”

Perry gives me a bewildered look. “And that’s enough to memorialize that moment into a nickname?”

I shrug. I didn’t hugely understand teenage boys when I was one, but I’d have thought Perry would understand Jock culture more than me.

“I figure it’s better not to worry about it.”

“What’s Jack’s nickname then?”

“MD.”

“MD? Because we’re doctors?”

“No, it stands for Massive Dick.” I roll my eyes. “You know, because he’s called Cox. Very witty.”

Perry looks pleased. I frown. “Why do you look so happy?”

“Takes after his old man.”

I sigh. “Whatever.”

\- - - - -

“Hey Dad. Hey Gay Dad.”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way.”

I roll my eyes. For some reason I have always been “Gay Dad”, or I have been for as long as Jack understood what that meant anyway. I’ll take it; it’s the closest I’ll ever be to being called a dad anyway. We did consider looking into whether we should try for a sibling for Jack; as neither of us were only children we both agreed that not having siblings inevitably resulted in personality defects. However, we couldn’t decide on who we’d want as an egg donor and/or surrogate and the idea of asking someone like Jordan terrified me so much that I was genuinely concerned I’d become impotent just from thinking about it. We’d then argued over whether Elliot was suitable to even ask (I said she was clever, pretty and great, what was the problem and so Perry sulked for a week) and had sort of agreed that Carla would be the person we’d both want, but then she’d gotten pregnant with Izzy and then later with Sofia. And so we decided to focus on Jack and stamp out any “only child” traits, although I spoil him rotten.

So, long story short, I’ll settle for “Gay Dad”. He spends a disproportionate amount of his time tormenting me, but he takes after his father that way. Considering that he also tells me that actually he doesn’t really want to be a doctor, that he kinda finds football boring and he has a crush on Tabitha in his math class (none of which Perry knows) I’m pretty happy with the situation. I’d rather be “Gay Dad” if that’s who he’s actually comfortable being himself with, rather than whoever he thinks Perry wants him to be.

“Are you ready to go to your actual mother’s house this weekend?” I ask him. He makes a face.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, you do. I’m not having the house wrecked in our absence.” Perry says quickly, apparently seeing me already start to bend as I consider whether it would really hurt to let him stay home alone.

“But her husband’s such a _loser_.”

It’s horribly close to something his Uncle Dan would say and I immediately start worrying he’s going to live in our basement for the next twenty years.

“Well, stick with it, champ. She’ll trade him in for the next model soon enough.”

I go help Jack pack and run through his homework with him (I’m not _doing_ it, just helping and giving some tips on the more interesting aspects of trigonometry). I also check his Nintendo Switch is charged and find the cartridges he has left all over the house from the last time he had a Mario Kart party. I then shove the charging cable into his bag and, as an afterthought, put in a pack of crackers. He’s a growing boy (nearly as tall as me now) and his mother subsists on hard liquor and the pain of others. I doubt there’s much in her kitchen.

To my surprise, Jack hugs me.

“What’s up, Jackeroo?”

“Nothing. Just… thanks.”

I frown at him. “Are you on the drugs?”

He smirks at me. “The drugs?”

“Yeah, any of the drugs. Don’t be on them.”

“I’m not. When you get back we can play Smash Brothers, yeah? I found a new Pikachu unlock for you.”

I realize that Jack’s trying to be nice, even though we’ve been so careful to not let him know what this weekend is about (he doesn't know about any of that shit period and I don't intend for him to find out). I smile and give him a quick hug back. Our son (and he _is_ our son as far as I’m concerned and I think as far as he’s concerned) is more empathetic and thoughtful than we sometimes give him credit for.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

I get another surprise when I get into our bedroom and find Perry packing. Perry does not pack. _I_ pack, Perry bitches that I bring too much and then inevitably uses everything in the case. I surreptitiously check he’s put enough underwear into the suitcase.

Why is he packing? And why does he seem so wound-up? I feel a spike of worry that he’s planning something that’ll wreck everything and hope I’m just being melodramatic.

“What’s up?” I ask, yet again tonight.

“Just… y’know.” He shrugs. “Packing.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Why?”

“You know this… what did you call it? This anniversary? This bothers me.” He sits down on the bed, clasping his hands together and bowing his head slightly. I sit down next to him.

“Yeah, I know. It bothers me too. I can’t believe it. Ten years since…” I hesitate slightly, not sure how he’ll react to me saying “Steve”. “… since Gourley abducted me. It seems unreal.”

He nods. I wrap an arm around his waist and lean against him gently.

“I’m still here.”

“I know.”

I kiss his forehead. “You usually just insist I stay in the same room as you. Going away is a bit… different.”

It’s normally pretty suffocating, actually. He trails around after me to check there’s no lunatics in the wardrobes or whatever. It’s like having a massive, slightly psychotic guard dog. But I can deal with it, as I know it makes him feel better. He has to deal with enough of my shit, one day a year focusing on his issues seems pretty insubstantial in comparison.

“I thought we should mark it, you know?”

I look at him thoughtfully. He’s aged, of course. We both have. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and apart from the slightly graying hair (and stubble, but I shave that off) and needing glasses for when I read (although I’m usually too vain to wear them if anyone else is around, even though they’re those chunky black things that I’m assured by James are fashionable) I don’t think I look too different. Other times I see a guy in his forties and think “who the hell are you? I’m still 20 and at college watching Turk dance to attract all the hot chicks”. I think if I told that version of me that I'm living with a guy and bringing up a child with him he'd faint. Or if I told him that the guy was the fabled "Doctor Cox" and he even regularly gives me hugs then he might just pass out from joy.

Perry, of course, still looks insanely hot. Maybe I’m biased, but I genuinely find him more gorgeous every day. He’s got an amazing physique still, his hair’s more gray than reddish brown now, but who gives a shit about things like that? He still gives me goosebumps every time he touches me. He’s still got those eyes and that voice and he’s still…. Well, he’s still _him_. And he’ll always be sexy just by being him.

I fucking adore him, when it comes down to it, but I make sure not to say it too much because he’s got such an inflated ego. And he knows anyway. He knows and he knows me and he still sticks around. I have no idea why.

I lean my head against his and sigh.

“I think… well, I think if you think we should then yeah? Honestly... I’m trying not to think about it too much, y’know? It’s a nice sentiment though, turning it into a celebration.”

He glances at me and strokes a hand down my thigh.

“I love you.”

I nuzzle into his neck. “I love you too.” _Okay, so maybe I do say it quite a lot. It’s rude not to though, right?_

He pulls me into his lap and kisses me gently. “Put your glasses on. I want to have nerdy sex with you.”

“You’re so weird.”

\- - - - -

“Why are you wearing trunks with a face on the ass?”

Newbie glances down at his yellow boxers, still wearing his glasses and having put on the underwear and a “crew of Prometheus” T shirt.

“It’s Gudetama. Turk got them for me from Japan.”

“You’re wearing underwear your husband bought you? I swear, it’s winking at me.”

He tenses an ass cheek and grins at me. “He is when I make him.”

I roll my eyes. “Just come back to bed. We need to set off early tomorrow.”

He nods and yawns. He doesn’t seem suspicious, which is good – if I’m honest, I don’t like keeping things from him, even things I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy about. I’m also so glad I packed our “fancier” clothes separately so he didn’t notice when he inevitably checked the suitcase, the finicky little bastard.

Whilst I’ve been thinking about my plans for tomorrow he’s cleaned his teeth in the en suite and wandered back in. I drag him into bed when he gets close enough and take his glasses off. He blinks at me slightly short-sightedly and grins. He’s ridiculously cute and, of course, is totally unaware of it.

“How early tomorrow?” he asks me.

“Like, eight. And Jordan’s coming by and picking Jack up at seven thirty.”

He squeaks and looks at me in horror.

“What? You knew she was picking Jack up.”

“I was kinda hoping we would just drop him off. Bet she’s pleased, having to get out of her bat cave that early.”

“Alright, Newbie.”

“You know she hates me.”

“She hates everyone. You’ll just hide in the basement as usual, anyway.”

“It’s safe there.”

He snuggles up against me. I kiss his temple and stroke his back, pulling him closer up to my chest.

“Nowhere’s safe from her, Newbie.”

He nods against my chest, his eyes already closed and his breathing evening out.

“I love you.” I murmur to him, again.

“I c’n still hear you doin’ that when I’m sleepin’.”

“I know.”

“L’v you too.”

I kiss his temple again.

\- - - - -

As expected, at 0710 JD realizes that he urgently needs to check something in the basement and vanishes from sight. Jack and I exchange an amused glance, although I honestly kinda want to join him down there.

“What are you doing, Vanessa?” I yell down the stairs.

“I’m checking the wine’s okay.”

“You can’t check the wine, we’re driving soon.”

“Correction; _you’re_ driving soon. I’m not allowed to touch the Dodge unless - _quote_ \- a bear ate my arms and legs and you’re my only option to get to safety, Newbie - _unquote_.”

“You’re totally hiding from Mom!”

“She wants to eat my soul, Jack.”

“Nah, your soul would have too many calories.”

There’s a clatter from the basement and then JD reappears at the door, frowning at Jack. “Are you saying I have a fat soul?”

Jack grins at him. At which point, there’s a ring at the doorbell, prompting Newbie to mutter “oh God” before vanishing back down the stairs.

Jordan, of course, has _not_ aged a day, thanks to the wonders of her plastic surgeon and a diet of the flesh of her enemies. She gives me her usual, tight smile.

“Hi Perry.”

“Hey Jordan. Come in.”

She sashays in and pauses at the door down to the basement. “Hey DJ!”

“Hi Jordan” floats up from the basement.

“Is Sally going to grace us with her presence?” Jordan asks me.

“Probably not. Jack, go say bye to JD, since he’s hiding from your mother with the wine.”

“A girl after my own heart.”

Jack bounds down the basement steps and I hear a muffled commotion which I assume is him picking JD up and staggering around with him, a relatively new habit he’s developed thanks to his quarterback training.

I really must stop tormenting JD in front of him, but I think the damage is done now.

“What’s happening down there?” Jordan asks me, her eyebrows raised as much as the Botox will allow.

“I don’t want to think. He sometimes practices tackles on him when he’s not paying attention.”

“Aw, it’s so sweet you got a playmate for our son.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, you can’t talk about that Jordan. Pretty sure David is closer to Jack’s age than he is to your’s.”

Jordan smirks at me and folds her arms. “Jealous, Perry?”

“Hardly. What were you planning to do this weekend with him?”

Jordan shrugs. “Don’t know. I need to go shopping – teenagers like the mall, right? Then we’re going out to a restaurant tonight.”

“All things a teenaged boy loves to do.”

“Yeah, well. It’s mother-son bonding time. Doing things I enjoy, obviously. Has he got much homework?”

“I… uh…”

“He’s done some of it.” JD says from behind me, making me jump slightly. I glance back to see that he has ventured out into the open and is standing at the top of the basement steps, one of Jack’s arms slung loosely over his shoulders. Jack's nearly JD's height now and is much more heavily built than him, so I'm quite surprised Newbie isn't buckling slightly from Jack leaning so much weight against him. Jack will be completely clueless about the fact he's slightly crushing Newbie, since he still views himself as a kid and JD as the cool, quirky adult that for some reason puts up with his Dad. Jack's always been besotted with JD, even before he lived with us full-time.

Newbie looks over at Jack, talking to him rather than about him, reminding me why Jack is so besotted with him. “You’ve still got your English lit review, right? And you need to start that history essay or you’ll be behind.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “But it’s _boring_. Constitution in 1787, Bill of Rights is in 1791, yada yada. I get it, freedom is good.”

“I don’t recommend writing that in your report. Last thing we need is getting called in to see your teachers because you’re being a smart ass. Again. Particularly since last time your father was a smart ass to the teachers in response.”

I glance between them, pointing out to myself that the most parent-like of all of us in the room is not actually biologically a parent. I try to say something vaguely parental in response:

“Go on, Jack, we need to get going.”

Jack hugs JD and gives me a wink before picking up his bag and walking over to Jordan. “Hey Mom. You ready to go?”

“Sure. Bye Perry, bye Sally. Enjoy your trip.”

JD gives her a strained smile in response and I feel a flicker of annoyance. Generally Jordan gets away with tormenting JD, since… well, since we used to do it together and generally speaking she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’ll know what this weekend is about though. I give her a warning look.

“Bye Jordan. Don’t mess up the boy too much.”

JD’s quiet as we get into the car and I glance over at him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Only we have a two hour drive ahead of us and if you’re going to be quiet I want advance notice so I can savor it.”

He smirks. “Sure, I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

\- - - - -

JD manages about twenty minutes before falling asleep, meaning I get to listen to the radio rather than incessant chatter about work or theories about what the maniacal former Janitor is planning or neurosis around Jack’s academic record or his propensity to punch other kids. I glance at him every so often and smirk to myself. He’s fallen asleep with his head back and slowly but surely his mouth is falling more and more open. It’s incredibly unattractive.

Yet somehow still appealing.

He grunts and wakes up as I turn off route one, closing his mouth and rubbing his eyes blearily.

“Was I drooling?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ew. My mouth feels like an old sock.” He frowns and moves his jaw, apparently realigning it.

“Charming. You’re as delightful as ever, Penelope.”

“Sorry that I can’t fall asleep in a beautiful pose like they do in movies.”

He actually generally sleeps quite attractively, just evidently can’t in cars. I decide not to tell him that and just smirk at him. He rubs his eyes and looks out the window.

“How far away are we?”

“Around half an hour.”

“Why’re you being so secretive about this place?”

“I just thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

He looks at me suspiciously. “You don’t do nice surprises. Just horrible ones.”

“Well, maybe I’m trying to work on that.”

He gives me an even more suspicious look in response.

“What are you doing?”

I widen my eyes at him, my best attempt at an innocent expression. He looks unconvinced.

I sigh. “Fine, I booked us into a fancy hotel and thought we could have a nice time together somewhere more luxurious than a Motel 6, okay? Way to ruin my attempts to be impulsive and romantic, Melissa.”

“Oh.” He looks slightly abashed. “Sorry… I… I… well, you know I’m not great at…”

“It doesn’t matter, Newbie.” I drop a hand onto his knee and squeeze it slightly. “Planning a surprise on this day probably wasn’t the smartest move by me. I think you’ll like the hotel though, some movie was shot there.”

“Which movie?” he asks excitedly. I grimace.

“Not sure, sorry. You’ll have to research it when we get there.”

“Oh.”

“Have you thought about what you’re going to get with the insurance money for your motorcycle?”

“Oh… uh…”

I frown at him. He’s looking slightly guilty. “What?”

“Um. Well, I was thinking of adding to it and maybe getting a car. Er, a BMW, actually.”

This does not sound like him. He’s hiding something. “A BMW, Newbie?” I allow the disbelief to creep into my voice.

“It’s _technically_ a BMW.”

“What is it?”

“… A Mini Cooper… You can get them in blue like Sasha was.”

I consider this for a moment. “Well, I guess that would stop the female interns thinking you were an option…”

\- - - - -

The hotel is, as I described, fancy. We’re met in the airy white foyer with a glass of champagne whilst our bags are spirited away to our room. JD’s impressed enough to forget to be skeptical and is gazing around with a slightly awed expression. He then glances over at me and an odd expression of worry runs over his face.

“Are you planning something?”

“I…” _he can’t know, he can’t possibly know, I threatened everyone with impossibly violent deaths if they even hinted at anything_. “I’m not, no. Can’t I just do something nice?”

He frowns at me, but is stopped from speaking by one of the staff coming over and beginning a tour of the facility. Maybe I went over the top, this place even has an on-site spa complex.

After the tour and inevitable chatter from JD to the concierge about stress massage and how to book it (which I know he’s angling for me to get) I collapse onto the four poster in our room and wonder if I can get more champagne. JD has noticed the second bag I hid from him earlier which the staff have brought into the room and is looking at it with the same oddly worried expression he had earlier.

“You brought these?”

He points at the bag and I sit up and nod, wincing at a cramp in my shoulder. He may have a point about the massage…

“I thought we could go out for dinner tonight; this place has a great restaurant attached to it.”

He looks somehow crushed and I frown at him. “What’s wrong?”

He makes a huge effort to look unaffected and grins at me. It’s a 100% fake grin and I wonder if I should call him out on it. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

\- - - - -

 _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,_ everything’s _wrong, he’s going to wreck everything._

I’m trying so hard not to let my feelings show, but I’m pretty sure it’s obvious, I’m terrible at this kind of thing. But I can’t let him see, if this is what I think it is then I have to _pretend_ to be happy or he’ll be crushed. Well, probably, he shouldn’t be crushed, but he probably will be. Like, I don’t think he should be, he should be happy if I say no, but…

I’m rambling. Stop it. Stop it and pretend to be happy, you moron.

Why tonight of all nights though? Did he think that would somehow make it better, would fix something so unfixable? No, it doesn’t, it somehow links it forever and ughhhhhh.

I’m trailing after Perry to this restaurant – oh, of course, it’s a _beautiful_ restaurant, the sea to one side and it’s built into the cliff and is _stunning_ , of course it is, oh, this is the worst. I adjust my tie nervously – my favorite tie, he’s packed my best suit, the one he knows I feel good in. I spent an exorbitant amount of money on it when I saw it on holiday in Italy with him and although he generally laughs at it because it has a waistcoat - and he’s very _Perry_ about waistcoats - I know he thinks I look good in it. He’s looking gorgeous, obviously.

I’m confused when he tells the waiter there’s a table reserved for Dorian (is there? I don’t remember doing that) and even more confused when we’re led to a reserved area away from the main restaurant with one enormous table. I frown at it. What, he’s going to do it here? That’s weird. I mean, I’ve been looking into this sort of stuff recently, obviously, and none of the magazines mentioned that as a potential plan. Quiet and remote, yeah, not massive oversized table that looks big enough to potentially sacrifice me on. Oh God, have I annoyed him so much he's going to ritualistically sacrifice me to the medical gods?

I stare at the table, then at him. He’s grinning at me.

“What…?”

I’m interrupted by a waiter materializing by my elbow, announced by the silver tray in the corner of my vision.

“Can Sir be tempted by an Appletini?” the waiter asks me in a fake, impossibly snooty voice that can belong to only one person.

“Turk!”

“J-Dog!”

I hug him, utterly bemused by what’s going on, but really not caring. I feel Perry taking the Appletini off the tray before Turk drops it onto me and open my eyes to look over Turk’s shoulder, seeing Carla, Elliot and Dan all grinning at me and coming out from the nearly veranda. I glance back at Perry, Turk’s arms still wrapped around me.

“What’s going on?”

“I thought-“ he steps towards us and Turk releases me. Perry wraps an arm around my waist and briefly pulls me to him and kisses my hair, a very rare PDA. “Well, I thought that rather than annoying you all day by trailing around after you that we should celebrate with our friends that you’re still here and how strong that shows you really are.”

I stare at him for a moment, briefly forgetting everyone else. The expression on his face is accepting, genuine and adoring. It’s something I’ve seen on him before, but usually as a fleeting glimpse that I’ve often convinced myself I’m making up, that he can’t possibly have an expression like that when looking at someone like me. I raise a hand and gently cup the side of his face, our noses inches apart.

“Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

His hands trail through my hair and he briefly kisses me on the lips – an absolutely unheard of PDA for him – before he looks over my shoulder. I look back to see my favorite people in the world, all dressed in their finest clothes and all smiling at me as I stand with his arms around me.

I beam back and know it shows exactly how happy I really am feeling.

\- - - - -

“I was so scared he was going to wreck everything.” I murmur to Turk around an hour later when everyone’s eating their main courses and cheerfully talking.

“I wouldn’t have let him, J-Dizzle.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you guys all knew what he was planning.”

“Would it have been that bad? Woulda taken the pressure off of you.”

I give Turk a scandalized look. “What, after all of the planning? Also, what I’m planning is _perfect_.”

“And a fancy restaurant by the sea where the lobster costs more than rent for a month isn’t ideal?”

“Pfft. Anyway, not tonight. I think that’s what scared me the most, that he might link all this Steve shit with… with that.”

Turk gives me a sympathetic glance. “He wouldn’t do that. He can be an asshole, but he wouldn’t do that.”

“Hey, don’t talk about him like that.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, only you can call him an asshole.” Turk grins at me. “So, you’re still gonna go ahead with it?”

“Yeah.”

“Still two weeks? Because if you wanna alter anything then I’ve locked most of your plan in now, so I’d need to know soon.”

“Still in two weeks.”

“And you’re sure you wanna do it at Sacred Heart?”

“Yeah.”

“Only that seems kinda weird, dude.”

“It just seems… right.”

Turk grins. “I can’t believe you thought he was going to propose,” he mutters to me quietly as Perry starts tapping a fork against his glass. I grin back at Turk and whisper back:

“Well, yeah. It’s just the sort of thing he’d do, propose two weeks before I’d planned to propose to him.”

\- - - - -

“Are the lovebirds done whispering sweet nothings to one another?”

JD and Gandhi give me joint slightly guilty looks and I wonder if I should be more worried about that. But that’s ridiculous, if they were going to elope together they’d have done it years ago.

I clear my throat and feel slightly awkward with everyone staring at me as I stand like I’m about to give some commencement speech. But I remember JD’s expression earlier when he asked me if I really meant it when I said how strong he was; how trusting he looked, how much he believed in me. That even after ten years that how he looked then, how open and honest and convinced by me, should be a surprise. And I know I have to see him looking like that again and again, as many times as I possibly can. Because that’s precious.

“Right, well as you ladies all know, I requested you all attend tonight to celebrate that the creature across the table from me wearing the ridiculous waistcoat and massive grin is still with us. I promise to keep this short, otherwise he’ll start daydreaming and I may as well not have bothered.”

I look away from JD, not wanting to see him when I say what I have to next. “I think we’ll all agree that ten years ago something terrible happened. We thought we could have lost something very important and it affected all of us in different ways. For some of us it made us realize exactly what he meant to us, whilst others were smart enough to already understand how devastating that really could have been.” I glance at Gandhi, who’s looking at me sympathetically. I look over at JD, who’s watching me attentively.

“I know it was hardest for you.” I tell him bluntly. “But I thought you should know how much we were all affected. How much you meant and still do mean to us all. And I thought that… well, instead of my watching you like a hawk and calling you girls’ names and you humoring me, like you do with all my other shit, well, I thought we should get together and let you know how grateful we are that you are still with us. That you are still with us and brave enough to keep going, to keep getting better, to keep moving forward. And that you’re still _you_. That you didn’t let it stop you being you.”

I glance at the others at the table. To my surprise it’s Barbie that stands up and speaks first, her voice wavering:

“I’m so happy you came back to us, JD. That you’re still goofy and funny and… and that you didn’t let it change who you really are.”

She smiles at him, slightly tear-stained, but resolute and I feel a spike of genuine respect for her. Carla stands up next to her and wraps an arm around her waist.

“Thank you for keeping going, Bambi. Thank you for not just getting past it, but for helping others who are going through that. I can’t imagine the strength that needs, to use something like that to help others. And, to be frank, Turk would have been inconsolable if we’d lost you.”

Carla smiles at her husband, although everyone knows it’s not really a joke.

Next is Dan, who slowly stands up and looks at JD. His little brother stares back at him, wide-eyed and oddly vulnerable somehow.

“I can’t speak as eloquently as Coxer, lil’ brother. And if I did I think you’d be suspicious,” Dan grins. “But… but I just want to say how proud of you I am. And how grateful I am that you went out on a limb for me. I know I’ve disappointed you over and over again and you didn’t give up on me. Thank you for that. I can’t even imagine how that feels, since you’ve never disappointed me once in your life. I mean… apart from your taste in men.” He winks at me and I glower back at him.

I’m surprised that Gandhi is the last to stand; I had been half-expecting him to interrupt me to start telling JD how amazing he is and waxing lyrical about their friendship like some Spartan odyssey. But he’s sat throughout listening to us, an arm wrapped around JD, who I can see is shaking slightly. I feel a twinge of gratitude at that, that the man who almost certainly wanted to immediately start crowing about JD saw instead that his best friend needed his support and quietly thought about his needs over any desire to be seen as the one who “loved him the most”. When he does stand, Turk keeps his arm around JD, pulling him to his feet at the same time before dropping his arm and turning to speak to him, like it’s just the two of them in the room.

“JD. Vanilla Bear. J-Dizzle. John Dorian. You are my best friend and my best person. Even after all this, you still care about other people, you still want to help. I respect you so much for that, dude. You still think of everyone before yourself. Thank you for still being here, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m sure the future will go perfectly and you deserve all the happiness that will definitely happen for you when all your plans come to fruition. I love you, man.”

He’s staring at JD intently and I feel like I’m maybe missing some subtext, but I can see that JD’s overwhelmed. I had been planning to ask him to say something, I’ve no idea what. But I know he needs a minute and I – being me – know that the best way to ground him is to be mildly insulting. So I do exactly that.

“You've all seen JD’s godawful tattoo. I’m not going to ask him to show it to us, even though it would get that waistcoat off him. I remember laughing at him when he got it done, thinking it was one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever seen. But, actually, as it turns out, it was more prophetic than any of us realized and maybe it’s was actually a stroke of genius.

So what about it, Newbie? I think we should toast it.”

He suddenly grins at me with that same look on his face of trust and belief in me that simultaneously makes me feel ten feet tall and like I’m floating on air. He lifts his glass and then, quietly but determinedly, says the word that’s emblazoned across his back.

“ _Epizón._ ”

“ _Epizón_ ” we all chorus back the Greek for “survivor".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you're wondering, JD's tattoo is technically:
> 
> επιζών
> 
> If you're wondering, Cox calling Turk "Turk" for the first time in this chapter of the whole of the "My Captive Audience" series is not a coincidence.
> 
> This chapter was utterly mushy and I'm unapologetic about it.


	26. Author's Note

Oh, wow. It's finished.

When I wrote MCA back in 2008 (and wow, that feels like so long ago now) the story felt incomplete. It doesn't any more and although MCA ended on a sort of positive note I'm not going to pretend the utter mush that the last two chapters of this became didn't make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Because JD and Cox deserved a happy ending, damnit, so they got one.

I was going to write a load of stuff here about why I wrote MCA and MCP and why I felt it was important to have a story where I felt that characters reacted outside of the formulaic way and that I wanted it to have a strong message of it being okay to not be okay. But I think the actual works themselves reflect this better than any comment I could write in an author's note, so I'll just leave it at that.

I'm really happy with MCP. Thank you all so much for reviewing it and for those readers who came back and reviewed each chapter (big shout out to dashwood's delightful reviews). I'm really pleased that I feel like I've now written a sequel that does justice to MCA. And if I'm going to be completely honest, I prefer MCP.

So... what to do now? I'm not sure that there's another "full-length" fic left in the MCA-verse. My original plan was to finish here and have the two fics together as one complete work. This was my plan riiiight up to chapter 24. Because I sort of fell in love with JD/Cox all over again when they aren't in a really shitty, stressful environment and/or trying to make their relationship work when the other partner appears to be actively trying to sabotage it. And some of the things that JD speaks about it chapter 24 I'd love to explore a bit more. And then I wrote chapter 25 and fell in love with older JD/Cox and their snarky relationship and I have to admit finding the Jack (Cox) and JD interactions rather touching.

So, I think I'll look to write some further one shots set in the MCA universe, but people probably don't need to have all the background knowledge about what happened in MCA to read these, they'll be a bit more "standard" Scrubs content. And clearly I need to start by writing JD's proposal, which is slightly unfortunate since *lowers voice* I have absolutely no idea what his big plan he worked out with Turk was. So I now need to figure that out and get in touch with my inner JD again to figure out what the hell he was thinking about. I hope you guys who've been so loyal throughout will enjoy those.

I have a sort of idea for a third installment, but can't see that it would be as long as MCA and MCP (these are both technically novels in word count, woah, kudos for those who mainlined them...). I'm just currently trying to figure out if it's a series of one shots or whether there's a viable (shorter) story in there. I'm actually feeling quite sad, as I've enjoyed writing these so much that the idea of not doing it any more is quite devastating. So I will be figuring this out over the next few months. I've also had a different idea for a Scrubs JD/Cox story, separate from the MCA-verse which I'm quite excited by currently.

I'm also planning on writing a new full length fic in another fandom, which is actually the fandom that inspired me to come back to writing. More news on that when it's ready.

Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing. It's been a pleasure and I hope to see you all again with a few silly/happy/sexy one shots and maybe more. I guess favourite me as an author if you want to make sure you see any new content :)

RC

PS Here's some things I wanted to put into MCP but couldn't figure out how to insert them:

\- Sutcliffe reappearing and referencing Perry being suspected in JD's abduction. Couldn't actually see why he'd do it and Sutcliffe was annoying, so Steve mentioned it instead.

\- Jack (not Cox) reappearing at some point and JD apologising to him for his behaviour. I tried this a couple of times, but I ship JD/Jack a little bit and was worried it would just come across as sexy/flirty and then JD would feel bad about it and all tortured and I've tortured him enough.

\- JD at some point realising that he liked Jack because he looked a bit like Perry (likely brought up by Craig) but I couldn't work it in, so JD remains cheerfully clueless about that (he definitely wouldn't realise it without it being pointed out to him).

\- Craig mentioning he has a wife and JD being surprised because JD apparently assumes everyone who's chill with bisexuality is bi or gay. I couldn't see when Craig would actually say that though, since it's a bit inappropriate for a therapist to mention. But Craig is married to a lady, if you were wondering.

\- JD telling his mother about what happened. The thing is, as she's never actually seen in Scrubs I couldn't even begin to imagine what she was like and had difficulty writing her from scratch. It also added yet another bit of drama, so I left it out. 

\- The Todd. I _so_ wanted to have more of The Todd in this fic, but it felt like I was forcing him in (The Todd high five at "forcing him in") whenever I tried. I definitely want to write a one shot with more of The Todd, I just need some half-decent plot reason to include him. He is quite difficult to write, he can't carry any useful plot points because he derails and high jacks everything. 

\- More Elliot stuff. I think I come across sometimes as disliking Elliot, which is completely not the case. I actually dislike the JD/Elliot pairing (I know, canon and so controversial), but I don't really think they make a good couple, JD doesn't actually treat her very well and they're both ridiculously neurotic. I love Elliot and really can imagine her being as protective and standing up for JD as she does in MCP. I particularly loved her going after Summers and also that she didn't tell Perry about it. I'd have liked to have put more JD-Elliot friendship stuff in, as this is a dynamic I genuinely love (season 4 vibe is totally my favourite).

\- JD with stubble. Because JD with stubble is cuuuuute, which may or may not be why he seems so defensive about it being a bit gray in the last chapter.


End file.
